Unplottable Island
by Raquel
Summary: Chapter 20 at last--though not last, but the beginning of a whole new twist in the tale.
1. Escape

**Unplottable Island**

****

**Chapter One: Escape**

The waves beat against each other, sending white foam high into the air.Even as the water reached skyward, the rain pounded it back down.The broomstick plunged up and down as the rider fought to hold on, fought to stay above the water.The baby clutched against the rider's chest screeched out it's protests at being jerked around, yet the rider couldn't hear it, such was the noise of the storm.

The rider's dark hair, cut to her shoulders, was plastered against one side of her face.Her blue eyes squinted out.It was here somewhere—the Unplottable island, where they could be safe.Or rather, where the child could be safe, since after all, he was the one she had made this idiotic flight for.Her black robes were nearly invisible over the dark waves, but they offered little protection from the wind and rain.She shivered.The child squalled.

An island!Quickly she glanced around, trying to find the landmarks.Not for nothing was she the best seeker Ravenclaw ever had: she spotted them quickly and moved to land.She crashed head on into the ground, staggering as a fresh howl of wind knocked her aside.The book had said there was a house on the north end of the island.She had to get inside before the child froze.

Grabbing her wand, she hissed "_Point Me._"The wand spun around, pointing to the left.She ran, ducking against the sheets of rain, until she saw the house.The door was ajar, so she ran inside, slamming the door behind her.Panting, she leaned against the door and slumped to the floor, water running out of her robes and hair, dripping onto the floor.

"Ahgoo.." the baby burbled, smiling as though he had not just flown nearly a thousand miles in a torrential storm.In fact, he didn't look as though he had been in a storm at all, the woman's cloak had taken care of that.The red curls on the top of his head were dry, and the blue eyes were completely happy.

"You, little sir, are a little too optimistic for my tastes," the woman groaned."Remember, you're only with me until James comes back for you."

"Daddy?" the little boy wailed, his mood changing as fast as the weather."Daddy!"

The woman heard him not.Her head had drooped, and she was fast asleep.

**A thousand miles away…**

"What do you mean, Lily and James are dead?"

"They—they are, sir.You-Know-Who…he…killed…"

"But the Secret Keeper!"

"Betrayed them, sir.It was awful.The house was burning down, sir, and in the bedroom was James and Lily, both dead without a scratch—"

"The Avada Kedavra then."

"I don't know sir, but the little boy, Harry, he's not dead—and You-Know-Who is sir!"

"Don't joke with me, boy.I may be old, but I'm not stupid."

"Excuse me, Minister sir, but Harry Potter lived!The boy lived through You-Know-Who's curse!"

Kirkle Grundo pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles higher on his nose."You don't say!Send someone to get him at once, Peter!"

Peter Pettigrew smiled."That won't be necessary, sir."

"What do you mean?I _told _you to go get the—" there was a crack as the Minister of Magic's neck snapped, and his body draped itself uselessly across his paperwork.

"Good riddance, sir," Wormtail smirked, then ran out of the room.

**At Hogwarts…**

Dumbledore absentmindedly tapped his quill on the roll of parchment, wishing that someone else could tell the world about Voldemort's downfall.It was so bothersome, putting it in a way everyone could understand.

A boy dressed in a student's robes raced in."The Potters, sir," he gasped."I've been told to tell you—"

"I already know," Dumbledore said sadly."Have they found the bodies?"

"The bodies of the Missus and the Mister, but the boy lives!"

Dumbledore frowned."No others?"

"No sir."

"That will be all, Mr. Smith."

Dumbledore arose, mentally preparing himself for the scene, and he Apparated.

At Godric's Hollow… 

The house was utterly destroyed.

Piles of smoke-blackened brick were everywhere, bits of molten metal pierced what had once been a flower patch.At one end of the house, the smoke-blackened and twisted cradle that had held the Potter twins lay melted.Dumbledore looked there first, swallowing bile.Disgusting that any human could do that to a little baby.But his search in the crib produced no remains.

At the other end of the house lay James's body, his spectacles cracked.His body was slumped on the floor, one hand out-stretched towards (Dumbledore supposed) where his wife had stood.But now Lily was crumpled face-down, in front of the charred remains of what had been her own Invisibility Cloak.Her long, brilliant hair flowed across the ground, her pale fingers just brushing James'.

Reminded of the Invisibility Cloak, Dumbledore made a mental note to withdraw James' Cloak from Gringotts.Now he closed his eyes, and pressed his wand to Lily's head."Tell me…" he whispered, "Tell me what was…"It was harder to draw a memory from a corpse, but since this was her death, it wasn't as hard as it could have been.

_"Take him and go!Just go!"_

James, Dumbledore thought bitterly.One of the faults of being a true-born Gryffindor: the lack of ability to realize that sometimes it was better to be safe than noble.

_"James—he'scoming!Oh, God, what'll we do?"_

A tear splashed the pavement.Lily, the beautiful Ravenclaw.Gone.

_"Go into the bedroom—take Harry and go!Don't worry about me!"_

_"Catch up with me later, alright?"_

_"I will."_

Dumbledore withdrew his wand, long fingers trembling.He needed to know no more.He could see what had happened.Lily ran into the back room, wrapped Harry in the Invisibility cloak, then opened the door on James' dying body.She wouldn't have let Voldemort through without a struggle, because he never would have killed her otherwise—it was well-known that Voldemort had always been interested in her.Beautiful, smart, and she bore twin boys without a hitch.What more could a twisted mind ask for?

Dumbledore conjured white sheets and gently placed them over the still bodies, aligning them next to each other.They would have wanted that.He repaired James' glasses, smoothed Lily's hair, and pulled the sheet over the still faces of the two he had loved as the children he had never fathered.Another tear escaped, but by the time it hit the dirt, Dumbledore had gone. 

**Author's Note: This was written out of the frusteration of having to read story after story about Harry's twin _sister_. If you don't get it, oh well. Read it again. I'll be posting more whether you like it or not. So there.**


	2. Lily's Kiss

**Unplottable Island**

****

**Chapter Two: Lily's Kiss**

Laura finger-combed her hair as she had every morning for fifteen years, from the tips to the roots, untangling all the knots.Her hair was jet black, despite the fact that she was approaching the age of forty.Only a single streak of silver above her right eye signified that she wasn't young anymore.Her appearance was neat, but threadbare: her robes were faded and frayed, but kept in good condition.Her black hair still was neatly cropped at her shoulders, her face was clean.The house in which she lived was dust-free and in good repair, kept so by many spells.

In the corner, Timothy Potter stirred.He too was tidy from head to toe: clean, with neat red hair and well-kept clothing.The boy was now sixteen, tall like his father, but still wiry.Laura got up out of the old chair and poked the boy with her foot."Tim.Wake up."

He yawned widely."'s too _early_," he complained, turning over onto his back."Go 'way."

Laura tapped her foot, then decided that it wouldn't hurt and went to the mirror to fix her hair.Using the hair pins that she used to teach Tim Transfiguration, she fixed her black hair into a knot at the base of her neck.She then washed her face, brushed her teeth, and tapped Tim again with her foot."Wake up and go check the nets."

He sat up, most of his hair sticking on end."I'm hungry," he complained good-naturedly.

"Go out and check the nets, and that won't be a problem anymore."

So off he went to check the nets they set every night for fish.Laura gave the old house a once-over, then stepped outside, grabbing her cloak against the sea breeze.She stared across the water, willing herself to see James and Lily, coming across the water—perhaps with Harry in tow.What would he look like now? she wondered, smoothing back her hair.Like James, probably.Tall, thin, with black hair.Though, Laura remembered, he'd had Lily's eyes.So Harry'd look like James with Lily's eyes.She snickered at her feeble attempts to see this in her mind's eye.

The sea was beginning to lap up the rocks, hiding the barnacles and other small clinging sea-creatures that rested there.High tide.Squinting at the sun, Laura figured that it was past midsummer.Late July, probably.Two more days until Tim's birthday.Harry's too.Well, where ever Harry was—if he was alive, anyway—he would be sixteen nine minutes after Tim.Whatever.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," she whispered."If you're alive.Or dead.Or whatever."She turned and went back inside."Tim, did you get the fish?"

**_At Privet Drive…_**

Harry was used to dreaming about Voldemort.It happened on a biweekly basis, most of the time.Sometimes it was more frequent than others.Someone usually was killed, he woke, then he sent his dreams to Dumbledore and Sirius Black, his godfather.It was almost becoming routine—but never would Harry become used to it.Those screaming, terrified faces haunted him day and night.

But tonight, the dream was different.

He stood alone at one end of a room.It was a clean but still rather shabby two-bedroom house, and by the look of it he was in the hallway upstairs. Two people, black-haired and fair-skinned, were engaged in a furious argument.One was a man—James Potter!Harry's father, who was gesticulating wildly, stabbing the air to make a point to a woman who was apparently refusing.It wasn't Lily Potter—someone else.

"—stupid, why can't you see why you need to do this?" James shouted.

"If you weren't so brave and bold you'd see why, James!" the woman shrieked back."I may be two years younger than you but at least I can see when it's futile to resist!"

"Just go!I love you and I don't want you to die!" he spat."You're only eighteen."

She pounded her fists into the wall, then yelled "And you're only twenty, James Potter.A _vast_ difference indeed. You need to come!"

"I will not abandon my post as an Auror!You have no such responsibility!"

"I have a responsibility to keep you from taking yourself too seriously, James!You love me, you love Lily—why can't you see that I'm only saying this because _I love you_!" she screamed, poking his chest."I won't leave you here!"

"Laura, I'm asking you only to go ahead."James's voice dropped to normal speech, though fire burned in every word."Go, then I'll send Lily, then I'll come."

Laura sighed and rested her head on his chest."James, please…"

"Three people leaving at once would cause a stir," James pointed out, appealing to the woman's practical side.

Harry watch the two work out a plan.He had lived in people's memories before enough to know that this was one, and he knew he couldn't be seen, so he wandered into the next room.Here stood a tall, pretty woman who was bending over a cradle, playing with the baby inside.It was swaddled in a heavy black cloth from head to toe, leaving only a round white face and two waving white hands.She was humming a little tune, all the while tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You know," she said to the baby, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, "I love James.I love him more than anyone I've ever loved—I'm his wife.Is it right to love someone and wish—and wish they'd do something other than what's right?" she asked, wiping tears that fell onto the blankets."I know what his duties are—I have the same ones.I know how proud he is, but for once—just for once, baby," she broke off to stare out of the window, tears running out of her green eyes."I wish we could run.All of us.I want to live a normal life with James and my children—I want to see you grow up—I want you to go to Hogwarts and make me proud—I want to live!" she whispered, then lowered her head to her hand and sobbed, her shoulders raising and lowering in the rhythm of her breath.

Harry moved closer, to the other side of the crib."I did!" he whispered, knowing that she couldn't hear him."I made you proud, mum!I've defeated Voldemort because of you—okay, he's still here, but I—we—did!I go to Hogwarts, I make good grades—I was Triwizard champion!Well, me and Cedric…" he stopped, aware of tears starting in his own eyes."I love you, mom.I never got to tell you," he murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek.His hand passed over her skin—but he couldn't feel it.Neither could she.

Sighing she stroked the baby's face—Harry's face—and pulled a shining cloak of silver out."No sense in taking chances," she told the baby, blotting a tear with her Invisibility cloak."I love you, Harry."She kissed the tiny forehead, her lip leaving a moist residue.Harry looked at it and jumped a little.Where Harry's scar had been when he grew older now lingered the kiss.Lily pulled the cloak over the baby, tucking it in firmly."James?"

And the apartment vanished, leaving behind the dingy walls of Number Four Privet Drive.Harry sat up, very still, trying to fasten his mother's face and voice in his mind.He began to cry.

In another place, far away from the safe confines of Privet Drive, a red-haired boy stood bolt upright, dropping the crustacean he had been holding.


	3. A Visitor

**Unplottable Island**

****

**Chapter Three: A Visitor**

Tim grabbed for the crab before it made its escape—no luck."Laura?" he called, bundling the rest of the small collection of fish into a canvas."Laura, it happened again."

Laura came out of the house.It seemed to Tim that Laura could be entirely too tidy.Nary a hair out of place nor a stain on her robe.Even now she was tidy; neatly sweeping around the puddles of water and the lumps that were sea urchins."What was it this time?"

"I heard somebody—well, not with my ears, just kind of—oh, I dunno," he stammered, trying to find the appropriate word."Sensed it.Somebody was crying."

Laura frowned.Tim knew what he'd said must be bad—she never showed much emotion around him."Tim, did you know who it was?"

"No," he said, puzzled.These little bursts in his head had started when he was small—just sometimes he _knew _what someone had just done.Like once, about two years ago, he had had the worst burst ever—terror.It had happened while he was asleep, and he had woken up screaming his head off and his pajamas soaked through with cold sweat.

"Hmm." Was all Laura said, then she straightened."Give me the fish, and eat all of what I cook.We'll be flying to see someone today."

Tim automatically handed her the fish, then asked "Both of us?To where?To see who?Why?"

"Questions later.Eat now."With a poke of her wand, she set the kerosene stove alight, with another wave the fish jumped out of their skins, dropped their guts in a neat pile, and flopped into a frying pan.

**_At Hogwarts…_**

Dumbledore was nearly done with his lunch when Professor Snape came racing into his office, whiter than usual."Professor Dumbledore, she's here—Laura and the boy—I don't know what to do!"

Old as he was, it took Dumbledore about ten seconds to get outside.He raced out onto the front lawn, where a middle-aged woman stood holding a broomstick, and a teenaged boy next to her who was staring at Hogwarts with awe on his face."Laura!" he called, dashing down the hill.She turned towards him, black hair slightly mussed by her flight.No longer was she the mischievous imp of a student that had attended Hogwarts fifteen years ago.She was thinner, with a silver streak in her black hair, and a worry line etched into her brow.Dumbledore embraced her."I've missed you," he told her, feeling tears run down his cheeks.

"Me too," she replied huskily, then straightened and placed her hand on the boy's shoulder."Professor Dumbledore, I believe you never met my nephew Timothy?"

Dumbledore smiled at the boy, who looked as though he wanted very much to disappear."Yes, I have, though at the time you were very young.You look, if I may say so, very much like your father—but for your hair.That was your mother's."

Tim had never heard anyone besides Laura speak about his father and mother—and she didn't like to.Whenever he mentioned them, the worry line between her eyes deepened, and she was silent until the subject was changed."You knew my father?And my mother?"

"Yes.Very well." A sad, misty veil passed over the old face, then Dumbledore smiled and said "Won't you come in?"

They followed him into the school, down the hallways, and up a revolving staircase into Dumbledore's private office."Timothy, I need to speak to Laura privately.If you wouldn't mind, there's a man in the next room who would be obliged to fit you for a wand."

Tim walked into the next room rather apprehensively.

"Good morning," a soft voice murmured from behind his left ear.Tim jumped."My name is Mr. Olivander, maker of fine wands."

Tim wasn't to sure what to say."Uh—hullo."Mr. Olivander had a rather hypnotizing stare—large, creepy silver eyes.He didn't blink while he scrutinized Timothy from head to toe.

"You've been using you aunt's wand to work magic.Laura Potter.Twelve and three-quarter inches.Supple.Sugar maple, containing one hair of a unicorn."He whipped out a measuring tape and asked "Wand arm?"

Tim stuck his right hand out, thought, stuck out his left, then asked "What if it doesn't really matter?"

Mr. Olivander practically glowed."Ambidextrous.Your mother was.A challenge, you will be."He sounded happy."That will do."

The measuring tape crumpled to the floor.Timothy jumped again.He must look as though he had a tic, he though, and tried to stand still.

Mr. Olivander returned, carrying a large stack of narrow boxes."Try these."The first box: "Ebony, ten inches, containing one dragon heart string" was a miserable failure.He couldn't even make it spark.Box two: "Willow, seven inches, inflexible, containing one phoenix feather" was a little better, but it wasn't good.Box three didn't work either, and so on it went up to box sixty-seven "Ash, eleven inches, containing one unicorn hair".By this time, Tim was getting very frustrated at his lack of ability to make anything happen.And number sixty-seven didn't work.

This didn't seem to be wearing on Mr. Olivander at all: on the contrary he looked more delighted than even at the appearance and rejection of each new wand.After another disappearance to return with another stack of boxes, he said "Seeing as nothing works yet, I think it's time to try new materials."

And so off they went."Apple and Veela hair, fourteen inches, whippy""Dogwood and dragon scales" "Red Maple, nine and a half inches, Unicorn hair" and so on for at least an hour.Now even Mr. Olivander was looking puzzled."Can you do magic with Laura's wand?"

"Yes," Tim replied sullenly, wishing to be back home.

"Hmm...Twelve and three-quarter inches, sugar maple, containing one hair of a unicorn—ah!This might do."And from the many mounds of discarded boxes he pulled out a very old and crumbly-looking leather sleeve."When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at his greatest, many witches and wizards were killed.When they died, their wands are either buried with them or returned to me.I think this one will fit you nicely."He opened the case and pulled out a wand, which was rather battered and chipped in a few places, with little marks where it had been worn smooth by the grip of a hand.A few finger-prints showed against the glossy wood, and it reminded Tim of a favorite shirt or a worn-in pair of jeans. "Ten and a quarter inches long, made of willow, containing one hair from the tail of a unicorn.Swishy.Good for charms, though incantations are also nice.Try it."

Tim gripped it, swearing that if this one didn't work he was going to leave right away.A sort of tickling warmth spread through his fingertips, and with a rush of energy he brought it down over his head.A volley of mauve sparks shot like firecrackers into the air, skittering across the floor and setting Mr. Olivander's tape measure on fire.He extinguished it, then clapped."Bravo!Wonderful, Timothy."

"_Finally_," Tim blurted, then hastily backtracked lest he offend Mr. Olivander."I mean, it did take a very long time."

Mr. Olivander smiled."Your mother would have been proud of you.That was her wand."

Tim stared at the wand he gripped in his fingers with a new light."But I though you said that only _dead _witches and wizards had their wands sent to you—"

But the wand maker didn't hear.He had poked his head into the other room and called "We've found a wand."

"_Finally_," Laura mumbled.Tim looked a little closer at her.Her eyes were a little puffy and red.

"You've been crying," he accused her."What"—then he was cut off by a little house-elf at the door squeaking "Monsieur Snuffles has arrived, sirs and miss!"

Timothy craned his neck to see this Monsieur Snuffles, but it turned out to be a large black dog, who entered in a rather apprehensive way.Mr. Olivander bowed himself out, insisting that he needed to relay his wands back to his shop.Laura cleared her throat."Um—Tim, I think it might be good if you'd wander around a bit—yes, since after all you will be attending here in the fall."

Tim didn't _want_ to leave.Things were being discussed behind his back, and he didn't like it."Fine," he snapped, not caring that everyone was now staring at him like he was poisonous."I'll leave."And he stalked out of the room, leaving behind his aunt, the dog, and Professor Dumbledore.


	4. A Friend

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter Four: A Friend**

The door closed behind Timothy.Laura didn't notice.Her eyes had fastened on the dog."Professor, is that—that dog—is it…"

"Yes," said Dumbledore."Sirius, if you please..?"

Sirius Black appeared on the floor with a faint _whoosh_ of air.He was tall, pale, and very thin, with shaggy black hair and dark eyes.Sirius had been part of James' clique when they were in school, and they'd remained fast friends afterwards.Laura and Sirius had been going together for awhile, but all that had ended when James and Lily died and Laura vanished.

"Er—hullo, Laura," Sirius said rather uncomfortably."Nice to see you."

Laura just gaped.Dumbledore cleared his throat and said "Shall I leave you two alone to—shall I say—catch up on things?"

Sirius nodded, then looked at Laura, who was still staring at him like he was dead."Laura?"

"Yes," Laura whispered."Go ahead."

Dumbledore bowed, then walked out, leaving behind him a very uncomfortable silence.Laura fiddled with a loose thread on her robe.Sirius ran a restless hand through his hair.The silence was as thick as a down quilt.

"Er…how are you?" Sirius asked."Last I heard, you were dead."

"Last I heard you were a convicted murderer."

Sirius winced."Whatever you heard wasn't true."

"What's true, then?"Laura had waited fifteen years to hear this, and by cures or curses she was going to _now_."Tell me."

"Where do I start?" Sirius asked, looking at the ground.Laura was doing her best to bore holes in his head with her blue eyes.

"At the beginning.Tell me everything."

"Er—okay."He started, staring at the ground and at Laura by turns.She remained silent through Peter's betrayal of her brother and sister-in-law, but when Sirius got to the part when Peter had run, she snorted.

"Just like him, eh?Bold when he's got some kick ass at his back, take it away…continue."

They were in there for two hours.Tim spent that whole time wandering aimlessly around the huge building, wishing that _someone _would tell him what on earth was going on.But he had to admit: Hogwarts was fascinating.Some rooms had vaulted cathedral-like ceilings, others were low and drippy, but one thing about Hogwarts was the same everywhere: it was very, very empty.Even most of the portraits were empty.

Tim turned another corner, then another, and found himself face to face with a tall ethereal figure of a female ghost.

"Pardon me!" she said as he accidentally stepped through her."I didn't realize anyone would be down the corridor today."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tim blurted at the same time.He shivered a little as he stepped out of the ghost.It was like getting sprayed by a breaker in midwinter.

"Who're you?" the ghost asked curiously.She was young, maybe twenty or so, with very long hair and prominent cheekbones.A wind he couldn't feel blew her hair around her face, stirring the ragged clothes she wore."I've never seen you before."

"I've never been here before," Tim answered honestly."My name is Timothy Potter."

"My name is Gwenivive Gray, but mostly they"—she flicked a pale hand around to indicate other people—"call me the Gray Lady.I'm the ghost of Ravenclaw tower."

Tim was rather at a loss.What do you say to a ghost?"Er…I'm pleased to meet you."

The Gray Lady smiled a little, her transparent face meant to be reassuring."Are you lost?"

"I guess.I'm not really in a hurry though."He scowled a little.Laura sure had forgotten him fast enough.She was probably discussing his parents—_without _him.They were his parents and he had a right to know.

She though for a minute."I'd love to give you a tour, but I can't leave this hallway.It's my haunt," she explained when he looked bemused."I'm bound here for fifty more years, then I can wander the halls.Maybe there's someone else along.Shoo now.I shouldn't keep you.Hogwarts is very large, and there is much to know about this place."The Gray Lady walked away, an invisible wind ruffling her loose hair as she vanished into a wall.

Tim rolled his eyes.How nice and vague could you get?He turned and walked back out of the hallway, down another passage—well lit.A blank stone wall was on his left, but on his right there was another ghost.Tim didn't try to talk to this one.It was gaunt and stained with blood, and stared at him with black eyes stretching black into infinity.Tim lowered his gaze to the ground and hurried by.

He decided to go upwards instead of down and took the next flight of stairs he could find straight up.This hallway was much more cheerful than the stone passageway.Rich red carpeting lay over white marble floors, and the walls held a massive collection of gold-framed portraits.One in particular was quite stunning—little bits of rubies and golden flake decorated the frame, which was large and grand, as though it were a portrait of something very special.It was also quite empty.

Someone cleared their throat just behind him, making him jump about a foot.

"If you've forgotten the password, it won't do any good.The Fat Lady's gone to the East wing for a holiday."

Tim turned."Oh—I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone else was here.Truly—the castle's practically empty."

The other boy wrinkled his nose a little, then pushed his round-framed glasses up a little higher."I know—it's dreadfully boring.I came here with my godfather—why are you here?I don't think I've seen you before."

"You haven't," Tim replied."I don't go here—well, at least I don't yet.I might, but I'm not sure.My aunt's talking it over with Dumbledore right now."

The boy looked flabbergasted."She left you on your own at Hogwarts?That's not a very good thing to do…after all, this place is full of trick staircase's and such. Not to mention Peeves."He grabbed Tim by the arm and pointed a white shadow bouncing a tennis ball against a wall."That's Peeves the Poltergeist.Avoid him at all costs.He's been bored, and he's getting so annoying that Dumbledore banished his to the lower levels."

"Thanks," said Tim."My name's Tim.What's yours?"

The boy looked at him with clear green eyes behind his spectacles."Oh, it's Harry.Now, come and see this staircase.It's got a trick step."

**A/N: Heh heh heh...well, the next part I might let them know that they're related...but I might not. You're just going to have to sit there and wait for my sweet little fingers to churn out another chapter. Review, por favor. Gracias.**


	5. This is SO Weird

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 5: This is SO Weird**

Laura sat back on her heels, looking at Sirius in a new light."You really did all that?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears."All for James?"

"For you, Lily, James—anyone who had died because of Pettigrew's treachery.I'm going to get him, and when I do the Ministry won't even find a finger."Sirius grinned wolfishly, his bright black eyes mischievous.Laura laughed, realizing by the hollowness of the sound that she'd come out of the habit of laughing.

"Sirius, I've missed you.You make me laugh better than anyone I know," she commented, smoothing her hair behind her ears again."Sixteen years and never once did I stop missing you."

Sirius sighed a little."I tried to keep you close in Azkaban," he said softly."But all my memories of you were happy, so they just slipped away."He leaned forward and touched her face."Sometimes I could see you, it was so real.I could hear your voice but when I tried to touch you—" he broke off, his face turning red.

Laura rested her hand on his."Surely you have at least one unhappy memory of me?" she queried."I broke your nose when I was twelve."

Sirius snickered."If I remember, you kicked me in the face when I tapped your foot during a Quiddich match."

"You had my foot and you weren't letting go, so I speeded up the act."Laura grinned.

Feeling his nose, Sirius added "And you punched me in the *cough* groin area once, I believe."

"I did no such thing!"

"Ah, but you did.I think it was because of something I said that you took offense to…or maybe it was something I did," Sirius grinned slyly."Like—this!" He bent forward and pecked her on the lips, a wide smile appearing at the surprise on her face.

Laura brushed her hand against her lips, then drew Sirius back and kissed him."I've missed you," she whispered as her ran a hand through her hair, her hands twined around the back of his neck as they reattached at the lip.

"Ahem."They sprang apart like guilty students as Dumbledore walked in."Sirius, Laura, there will be other times—later, and preferably not in my office.I've found both young Mr. Potters.They seem to be getting along quite well; Harry was instructing Tim on the finer points of the school."At Laura's silent query he added "No.They haven't guessed."

"Not surprising," Sirius groaned, straightening."They don't look anything alike."

"Well, I don't know, but other than being about the same height and build, they aren't at all identical," Laura added standing."Are you going to tell them, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore smiled crookedly."I think we can avoid confrontations more if you two tell them—you are, after all, their legal guardians, and they might feel cheated hearing of it from me."Laura nodded, then settled back on the couch.Dumbledore left to bring back Tim and Harry.

Laura sighed and sank back against his arm."I get the feeling that this isn't going to be pretty, Sirius."

He kissed her lightly."We probably should have told them awhile ago," he said, resting his head on hers.

"I would have, but I didn't know if Harry was alive or dead or locked up somewhere.I didn't want to give Tim any false hopes," she confessed.

Sirius nodded."Yes, and Dumbledore couldn't have told Harry because he didn't know if you and Tim were dead or something.They never found a body, but they never found you, either."

"So we are completely innocent of keeping this from them," Laura said, then groaned "I have a feeling that they won't buy our excuses."

"Me too."

"Tim?Harry?Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore called.

"Yes?" they replied simultaneously.The old man shivered.They sounded exactly alike.

"Your presence is required in my office," Dumbledore said graciously.He paused as they turned toward his.They were so like James…but no, Harry had Lily's eyes, and Tim had that fiery hair.They were about the same height—Tim was slightly taller, but thinner.Harry wore glasses, Tim didn't.There were many differences, but their bearing, features, and motions were much alike.Not enough to notice—but obvious if you looked hard.

The boys exchanged glances."Alrighty then," Tim said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops."I guess Aunt finally decided to let me in on the secret," he added sarcastically.

Harry followed."What secret?"

"That's just it.All my life I've lived with her, but she never really gotten around to telling me why exactly I'm not living with my parents, or why I've never visited them.All we have is a mangy old photograph of them on their wedding day, and _she _keeps that hidden.She doesn't know I know about it."Tim growled."I just wish she'd told me."

"At least you might _have _parents," Harry said shortly."Mine are dead."

"Oh."Tim shuffled awkwardly on, then said "I'm sorry.When did they die?"

"When I was a baby," Harry spat out in a kind of uncomfortable way."I don't really want to talk about it."Changing the subject, he asked "How long have you lived with your Aunt—Leslie?"

Tim laughed."Oh, next to forever—her name's Laura, by the way—on an island.I'm not exactly sure where it is, but it's Unplottable."

Harry goggled."That's pretty cool—what's it like, living on an island no one can find?"

"Well, it's pretty boring.We would live here except me and Laura were hiding from this guy named Voldemort—oh, sorry," he said, for Harry had turned pale at the mention of his foe."I mean, we were hiding from Evil-Guy, and I guess word never got through whether it was safe or not to return.I think my mom and dad were supposed to join us afterward—but I guess they got lost or something."He looked around."Speaking of lost, do you know where we are?"

Harry glanced around, adjusted his glasses, and pointed to the left."Around that corner.There's a gargoyle, but we're going to have to guess the password because I don't know what he's changed it to."

"Won't that take ages?" Tim asked as they rounded the corner."I mean, there are so many possibilities…"

Harry grinned."Oh, no.It's always a sweet—something he likes."

Tim frowned."I don't know many.Just Chocolate Frogs—Laura has a sweet tooth."

"Okay then.Er…Chocolate Frogs!Blood Flavored Lollipops!Ummm…Licorice Wands!Caldron Cakes!"The gargoyle remained unmoving.Harry sighed, though some more, then added "Oh, I dunno—Ton-Tongue Toffee!Oh my god, I don't believe it…"

The gargoyle jumped aside."What's that stuff?" Tim asked Harry as they boarded the revolving staircase.

Harry shuddered, smirking a little."Hope you never taste one, but someday someone will slip one in Snape's tea and we'll all have a good laugh."

Tim was going to ask who Snape was, but they were at the top of the staircase and the door was open.Laura and a tall, thin man were sitting together on a chaise lounge in front of the fire.There were two more chairs, presumably for Tim and Harry.

"Hullo, Laura," Tim said, feeling rather cold."Who's this?"

Laura smiled, looking nervous."Er…Tim, this is Sirius Black, one of my oldest and dearest friends.Sirius, this is my nephew, Tim."

"Pleased to meet you," he said, smiling.He had a cheery smile, and smiled more with his dark eyes than anything else."You can sit if you'd like."

Laura cleared her throat."Tim, Harry, we need to tell you guys something.I know Tim should have heard some of it earlier, but it's still kind of painful…" she trailed off, looking at Sirius.

Sirius, always know for his tactfulness (here the author jests), took over."Harry, when you were born, have you ever seen the pictures?"

"Er…no, actually," Harry said."I don't have any."

"Damn." Sirius thought."Harry, who are your parents?"

"Lily and James Potter, Sirius," Harry said in a rather lecturing tone, like someone explaining that one and one made two.

Tim jumped."Why that's my last name too!And my father's name is James," he looked sidelong at Harry.Green eyes met blue, and in a second it all fell together, what Sirius and Laura were so eloquently trying to explain.

"Oh my god." Harry intoned flatly."This better not be a joke."

"Seriously," Tim echoed.

Laura smiled shakily."No joke, guys.You're brothers!"

"Twins," Harry said hollowly."We're twins."

"Sheeeyooot," Tim swore, swiftly changing his word of choice as Laura glared at him.

"Don't swear in front of me.I'm still your aunt."

"And mine too," Harry said, staring straight ahead with a stupefied look on his face."This is so weird."

Tim looked at Sirius."And you're my godfather.Are there any more relatives that are hiding somewhere?"

Laura sighed and sank back."It's a long story, boys.I think we'd better call for some supper."

**Author's Note: I am soooo bad! Next part will be mostly Laura and Sirius explaining what the hell was going on that night, and Tim trying to find out why the hell Laura has neglected to explain this to him. So, until then, Chao! Review, por favor. Gracias.**


	6. October 31

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 6: October 31**** **

**_A/N: This entire chapter takes place 16 years before the rest of Unplottable Island.I tried to make this a more original rendition of this day than some of the others…tell me whatcha think!_**

Laura sat back, holding her steaming mug of hot chocolate close to her face.It was a chilly fall day, perfect for sweaters and fireplaces and warm mugs of cocoa.She watched outside as the big oak tree in the front yard sprayed it's golden leaves together in the brisk wind that ruffled the hair and clothing of the passerby.Laura watched enviously for awhile, then decided that it wasn't worth the effort. She knew that if she left, then the charm on the house would be broken and Lily, James, and her young nephews would be found.

_Besides, _she though dreamily,_ It's only been what—four months?Some of those poor Jewish Muggles in the World War had to stay hidden for years, and they probably didn't complain._She curled up a little tighter on the sofa, watching the leaves falling outside.

"Laura?Laura?"

"Down here, Lily," Laura called, setting her cup aside.She could guess what her sister-in-law wanted.

Lily dashed though the door, nearly slipping on a pile of building blocks in one corner.Her red hair, the color of autumn leaves, was pulled back with a rubber band from that morning's paper, and her face was white from too much time indoors.She was wearing her own jeans and a patched, huge sweat shirt that had belonged to her father.Her feet were bare."Can you help me?I don't know what to do, they just woke up and started wailing and I'm just not enough person to deal with both of them at their most…Argh!" she dug her hands through her hair, look very much like a stressed young mother.

Laura got up and neatly brushed the blocks out of the way with her foot.Unlike her sister-in-law, she was well-kept, unruffled, and very cool under all circumstances."Which one do you want me to get?"

"Ummm…Timmy.He's just hungry, but I think Harry had a poo-poo," she muttered half to herself, chewing on a fingernail.

"Okay," Laura said, walking into the room."Oh, and Lily?"

"What?" she asked, still chewing on her fingernail.

"Please don't do that."

Lily snatched the offending finger out of her mouth and picked up Harry, cooing to him as she laid him on the changing table.She smoothed his hair and reached for the stack of extra diapers.Still babbling baby talk, she began to make funny faces, whether for her son's amusement or from the stench nobody could tell.

Laura chuckled to herself and picked up Tim, who fussed until he saw that they were headed to the kitchen."Ooo, you're a bright young thing, aren't you," Laura cooed."Bet you're a Ravenclaw, just like your auntie and your mom."Tim wrinkled his nose and cackled in baby talk.

Tim struggled down and toddled over to the refrigerator."M'cooneee!M'cooneee!" he shrieked happily.

"You little monster, why do you want that horrible stuff again," she said, pushing a few full boxes of macaroni and cheese where they couldn't be seen by the one-year old."It's bad for you."

"M'cooneee!" he cried, smiling up at her with his pearly white baby teeth.His blue eyes crinkled into little slits, and he hugged her leg in a tight bear hug.

Laura sighed and pulled out a pot, clearing a small space on the counter."Fine.Macaroni it is!" she poured a cup of the dry noodles into the pan, throwing in the cheese and water quickly.She was so sick of macaroni and cheese.But it was hard to resist when Tim smiled at her with that adoring look in his eyes.Tim bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, babbling incomprehensibly.

James came downstairs, holding that day's paper.His glasses were in his hands, in the midst of a cleaning.He was dressed like any other twenty-year old male in fall: jeans, polo, sweat shirt, sneakers.His hair stuck up at odd angles, raked there by restless fingers.He had blue eyes, just like Laura, though at the moment they were unfocused.He slipped his glasses back on and smiled as the room came into clearer focus.

"Hullo, Laura!Oh, and looky here!Who's a big boy?Yes, you are!" he scooped up Tim and held him above his head, laughing."Look, you're even taller than Daddy!"

Tim burbled happily, then shrieked "M'cooneee!"

James made a face as he returned his son to the ground."Macaroni?_Again_?" he moaned, comically sad, then checked the pot on the stove."Laura, you forgot to light the range."

Laura blushed.It wasn't often that James caught her in a mistake."Sorry," she said, then lit it with a poke of her wand.

"Thorry!" Tim mimicked.

James smiled, then addressed his sister "You should go see if Lily needs help.I've got Tim now."

"Kay."

Lily was still upstairs, trying to get Harry to let go of the toy broomstick his father had bought him."I swear, Laura, you'd think he knew what he was going to do when he grew up, the way he's got this thing in such a deadlock!" She finally wrenched it away, and Harry began to scream piercingly.

Laura winced, then picked him up by the back of his shirt and his feet and 'flew' him around the room as Lily hastily hid the broomstick.Harry giggled happily, shouting "Zoom, zoom!" at the top of his voice as Laura spun him around in a circle.

Lily straightened, and the rubber band that had feebly been holding her hair snapped, sending her hair, the same color as Tim's, falling down her back as she shouted exasperatedly."This just isn't my day," she remarked as she repaired the band so that she could put her hair back up.

"Oh, don't be silly, Lily," James quipped from the doorway."Any day you're in is a wonderful day."

Lily smiled, embracing her husband.James pecked her on the end of the nose, staring deep into her big green eyes, then headed lower as they engaged in some good old-fashioned tonsil hockey.

Laura, suspecting that they wanted to be left alone at the moment, went downstairs with Harry perched on her shoulders.She crouched low as they entered the kitchen.Harry struggled down, then went over to Tim, who sat in his high chair.They babbled to each other in baby talk.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you two knew what the heck you were saying," Laura muttered to herself as she stirred the contents of the pot.Harry and Tim both made a snorting noise.Laura wrinkled her nose.She didn't really understand the rapport between the twins—well, she could understand if they were identical—which they weren't—but sometimes it was as if the brothers just _knew _what was happening to the other.Weird.Maybe it had to do with the birth complications.Whatever.

"Hey boys!Macaroni!" she called.Turning around, she faced only the empty seat and it's swinging straps."Accursed twins!" she groaned, then set down the food and went off to find the two little boys, praying that they hadn't wandered out of the house.If they had then the whole household was in big trouble."Big trouble," she muttered to herself.

"Therius!Therius!" two little voices shrieked.

Laura ran to the sitting room, were Sirius Black stood, shaking water from his short black hair."Sirius!How are you here?Why?Has something gone wrong?" she asked in a rush, wondering what had possessed him to break the spell now, instead of at a time when it could be renewed."This is so stupid, Sirius, now we'll have to redo the spell!" she said, poking him in the side as she tried to herd the two little boys together.

"Laura, there's no time.Something's happened to Peter, and I'll bet my motorcycle that Voldemort's involved in this.You've got to clear out of here within the hour."Sirus scooped up a little boy in each of his big hands."Quick, start packing some clothes and food.I'll go tell James and Lily, but I've got to go—maybe I can delay Him if He decides to pay a visit."

Laura stared at him, knowing what he was suggesting."Please don't get yourself killed, Sirius," she begged, hugging him as tightly as she could."If you do, I'll never, _ever_ speak to you again.Not even if I die too."She tried a weak smile, knowing that this might be the last time she ever saw Sirius again.

Sirius drew her face to his, and they kissed warmly.It was he who broke away first, panting a little."I love you Laura, and even if it mean facing a eternity of hell I'll stand between you and Voldemort."

Laura buried her face in his shirt so that he wouldn't see that her eyes were brimming with tears.

***

"Laura!" James called from upstairs."Laura, I need to talk to you.Get your broom."Laura raced upstairs, holding her knapsack in one hand and her Sliver Arrow in the other.James stood in the corridor leaning against the wall, his hair more ruffled that usual, his brow wrinkled like a man of twice his age."Tim's in his bed.Take him and go."

"Are you ready already?" Laura asked, searching her knapsack.Good thing it was magical, she'd never managed to fit everything in otherwise.Clothes, robes, a few treasured spell books, an extra pair of shoes, a hair brush, several bottles of water, lots of granola bars and a few precious pieces of fruit and her family album."Lily isn't exactly a fast packer by my standards."

James tried a smile, but failed.He rested a hand on Laura shoulder and licked his lips."We need you to go ahead.Take Tim and leave…we'll catch you up."

Laura swatted his hand from her shoulder."Oh no, James Potter.I'll leave with you or not at all."

"I have my duty, and I will _not _abandon my post as an Auror by running away like a coward!"

His sister's jaw dropped."Running away is cowardly sometimes, James—not now.If we stay here we'll be killed!"

"You and Lily are the treasures of my life," James replied hotly."I will not run and have you two killed later."

"James, that doesn't make any sense.You and Lily can with me when I leave, but I will not leave with out you."

"Now whose not making sense?"You can be so god damned stupid, why can't you see why you need to do this?" James shouted.

"If you weren't so brave and bold you'd see why, James!" Laura shrieked back."I may be two years younger than you but at least I can see when it's futile to resist!"

"Just go!I love you and I don't want you to die!" he spat."You're only eighteen."

She pounded her fists into the wall, then yelled "And you're only twenty, James Potter.A _vast_ difference indeed. You need to come!"

"I will not abandon my post as an Auror!You have no such responsibility!"

"I have a responsibility to keep you from taking yourself too seriously, James!You love me, you love Lily—why can't you see that I'm only saying this because _I love you_!" she screamed, poking his chest."I won't leave you here!"

"Laura, I'm asking you only to go ahead."James's voice dropped to normal speech, though fire burned in every word."Go, then I'll send Lily, then I'll come."

Laura sighed and rested her head on his chest."James, please…"

"Three people leaving at once would cause a stir," James pointed out, appealing to the woman's practical side.

"I know," she whined, "But god, James, if anything happened to you and I was the one running away while you stayed here being brave, I could never, ever forgive myself.Ever."

James kissed her on the top of her head."Tim's in his room, Harry's with Lily.I love you, and Godspeed."He entered the next room.

Laura felt the tears she'd been suppressing leak out over her cheeks, dripping down the front of her sweater.She pulled on a weather-proof cloak, grabbed her broom, and got Tim.Almost unconsciously she attached him to her back, and exited the house for the first time in four months.The cool autumn day that had looked so perfect from inside now had flaws—bare branches stretching over the sky like bars, the dead expanses of grass, the harshness of the cold sun which even now was being covered by dark storm clouds.Tears still streamed down her cheeks, bitterly cold in the brisk wind.She looked at the small house, with it's red bricks and blue siding, and wondered if she'd ever see this wonderful, happy house again.

Laura sighed, wiped the tears from her face, and set her course for the Unplottable Island.


	7. Dreki Fólk

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 7: Dreki Fólk**

Laura sat back, rubbing a tear out of her eye."That's it, best I can remember."

Sirius sighed a little."I came back to the house after looking for Peter—but I guess I was too late.All I found was James and Lily, dead on the ground—it was the Killing Curse.Hagrid—that's the gamekeeper, Tim—was there with Harry, and I begged him to let me take you somewhere, because I knew that they were either going to raise you themselves or send you to that awful aunt of yours.But he said no, duty was duty, so I lent him my motorcycle.And I knew that I had to find Peter.I caught him in the main square of Godric's Hollow—he never did learn to Apparate.He was a double agent for Voldemort, and I was so mad I would have killed him anyway—he betrayed James, Lily, you boys—and you, Laura.Well, he knew what I was going to try, so he blew apart the street, turned himself into a rat, and fled down the sewer.I got blamed."

Tim was in total awe.What bravery it must have took for his father to stand his ground like that!He and Harry exchanged looks, both of their gazes filled with respect for the parents they never knew—and the aunt and godfather they did.

The moment was shattered by Dumbledore bursting in, face sallow beneath his beard."Sirius, Laura, you're remaining here tonight.Nowhere else would be safe."

Sirius rose."What's wrong, Professor?"

"Severus Snape.He's gone—vanished from Hogwarts."

***

Biana Razi flattened herself again the wooden wall, breath coming fast.He was at it again.

She was tall and thin—but not human.Definitely not human.Her eyes were an unusual shade of amber, and the pupils sliced them in half like those of a cat, made more stunning by a tiny nose and a thin, lipless mouth.Brown henna tattoos lay in an intricate design across the top half of her face.Her skin was almost golden, with a scaly texture around her arms and torso.Each of her unshod feet ended in a clawed toe, and her fingers had the same long, scaly digits.Her long ragged dress was tight enough to show that (no matter what her species was) she was most definitely female.Her hair was long and inky black, tied behind her head in matted knots.

Biana was of a people called the Dreki Fólk—the Dragon People.Long ago, when dragons had run unrestrained through the world, there needed to be a special kind of people to tame and control the dragons.Thus, the Dreki evolved, a mythical people with the ability to control dragons and live forever—unless they were killed.After the world became more dependent on wizard-produced magic, the Dreki faded into fairy tales and bedtime stories, someone who had lived long ago.

But Biana was here.Now.And if she didn't play her cards right, she most definitely would not have the chance to see her next millennium through.

It had happened so quickly—the man, tall and so like one of their people, coming to the inner caves, braving the dragons that lived within.He had wanted their service—someone who had done him wrong, he had said.Someone who was trying to kill him.He needed the powerful Dreki—their hold on dragons—to seal his victory.

What he didn't mention was that they didn't have a choice.

Now she was in change of watching those this man found useful and didn't want to kill—precious few.Too many spilled their secrets and died, one after another, and Biana was in charge of removing the bodies from the presence of Lord Voldemort.

But now she crouched against the wall outside of his 'Wanting Room', hearing human screams and the horrible rending of flesh and bone—and she knew there would be the call of "Biana Razi, get this fool out of my sight."She shivered, knowing that the fool was dead now, knowing that she would have to gather this poor mortal together in a sack and walk by the eyes of the others awaiting their audience, carrying a bloody bag that she would bury outside, with a small rock placed on it with the name of the deceased.

Biana looked down the row of cells.There were twenty of them, each five feet by five feet, barely enough room to lie down.No food.No water.Just the miserable few souls who still lived.They all hated Biana, the silent messenger of death to them all.What they didn't know was that she'd gladly thrown herself on the spit for them—but she knew that she couldn't.He'd do his cruelties with or without her, but for now she would settle for the long wait for someone who would listen to her—someone who had not given up yet.

"Biana!Here's another for my Lord."She rose, her clawed toes scratching the floor as she walked to the door.Another of her kind, Boaz, held a man.He was tall for a human, though very short to the eight feet four inches of Boaz and the seven foot eight inches of Biana.

"Thank you, Boaz," she said quietly.The mortal looked at her oddly.They all did that at first, not realizing that the Dreki spoke in Parsel Tongue—creature with forked tongues cannot speak human languages."I'm sure my Lord with be pleased."

Boaz winced."There's nothing we can do, Biana.Only wait.He's only a mortal.We are much more than that."

Biana nodded and closed the door, the man's arm in her grasp.There was an empty cell here, near the door.The last cell, in the far back.She pushed him inside and closed the door, sealing it with her own brand of magic.Conveying by a series of gestures that he was to sit and wait, she went to go get a pad of paper to write his name down on.He'd be gone within a few days.Best get his name now.

When she came back, he began to talk to her.Biana understood most of it, but she couldn't reply, so she merely listened, scratching out a few designs on the pad of paper.

"Do you speak English?" Head shake from the Dreki."Okay.Do you understand me?" Nod."My name is Severus Snape.Tell him that, he'll want to know so that he can get me before the rot does.Are you one of those mythical creatures, the Dragon Folk?"

Biana looked at him—really looked at him—and saw what she'd so rarely seen in all the prisoners she'd brought through this hell hole.A spark.Just a light in the back of a pair of fathomless black eyes.And Biana knew that this man was the man she'd been waiting for.The man who still had hope.To make a difference.

Frantically she scratched her message on her notepad.

_I want to stop this man.I need help.Will you help me?_

Severus Snape looked at her.Stretching his pale arm through the bars and grasped her scaly hand.He moved the pen into a single word.

_YES._


	8. Sorting

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 8: Sorting**

Tim shuffled his feet nervously, listening to the dulled roar of all the other Hogwart's students.Any minute now, he had to go in.He had never been in the presence of so many people in his life.Just being around Harry and Sirius had been difficult sometimes.

But there was so much to know about Hogwarts!

In the company of Harry and Sirius (as a big black dog) Tim had learned the finer points of Hogwarts—secret passage ways, trick staircases, and useful ways of getting rid of Peeves.Harry even gave Tim a tour of the Gryffindor common room: in the four weeks since Tim's arrival, they were fast friends.Sirius was just like a mischievous older brother, trotting around and occasionally appearing in his human form, a smiling face with crinkling black eyes.Tim had been introduced to Hagrid, a few more social centaurs, and all the professors.

He had a great liking for the tiny, humorous Professor Flitwick, the Charms Professor, who taught him one of the more useful charms he'd seen before—it was called True Sight.Flitwick's welcome to Hogwarts gift was a pair of glasses (for, as Tim had discovered when he had first come to Hogwarts, he was very nearsighted and needed glasses).These glasses functioned normally, unless you hit a small button set into one side of the frame.Then you could see exactly what was real and what was magical.Tim didn't like the glasses, but he liked being able to see past Illusions and the magically adjusted surroundings.

Reminded of the glasses, he flicked one side of the rectangular frames and looked at the Hall.Stripped of it's magic, the entrance was merely a big room, though not as big as it first appeared, with a big silk rug in front of the door.(Tim had asked Dumbledore about this, because it seemed rather a waste to have a huge, vastly expensive silk rug where people would track mud all over it and ruin it.Dumbledore had smiled and replied "It's a very ugly rug.That was the only place we wanted it.")Tim tapped his glasses again and the hall flickered back to it's normal, mysterious and grand state.

"…Sorting will now commence," echoed Dumbledore's voice from the front of the room.

Tim began to pace nervously.He knew what he'd have to do—Laura had helped him rehearse.Go up to the front of the room and onto the stage, sit on the stool, put on the hat.It was now occurring to him for the first time that he would have to walk through all those people.He didn't know if he could do it—his insides shriveled at the mere though of all those people, all looking at him and whispering like they were now.

He also wondered what House he'd be in.Sure, his father and brother were in Gryffindor, but his aunt and mother were Ravenclaw.He knew Harry would be disappointed if he wasn't in Gryffindor, and Laura was probably crossing her fingers for Ravenclaw.He didn't wan to think about his other options: Slytherin meant total disgrace from his whole family, Hufflepuff might be okay, but he really wanted to be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.Preferably Gryffindor.At least he knew someone there.

Professor McGonagall poked her head out."They're almost ready for you, boy.Good luck!And keep an ear open!" and she vanished, back into the noisy, happy room.

Tim's stomach jerked, as though it were trying to leap out and run away.Pressing his ear against the solid wooden door, he listened to Dumbledore's voice ringing out over the voices of the students as they greeted the newest members of their Houses.

"And now, older students and new students, we must keep the Sorting Hat out for just one more person.Unfortunately, Mr. Timothy Potter was unable to attended Hogwarts for the first five years he was supposed to, but"—whispers broke out.Standing outside, Tim could here people asked each other "Potter?".His insides turned to lead.

"Ahem.As I was saying, Mr. Potter will be Sorted now, into his house, where he will be a sixth year.I hope you all will do an exceptional job welcoming Tim into Hogwarts.Now, Mr. Potter, if you please?"

Tim pushed open the door a little so that he could edge through it, closing it quietly behind him.A thousand students swiveled in their seats, looking at him with polite interest.He could barely will himself to move, but he did, keeping his eyes on the top platform, where Laura and Dumbledore sat, smiling.Whispers flew back and forth like little catapults showing him with sound.

"Look at his hair—d'you suppose he's another Weasley?"

"Nah, they already have too many—what would posses them to have another?"

"Handsome, isn't he?"

"Padma, leave the poor boy alone.You've got a boyfriend, I'd like to remind you."

From another corner: "Potter?You don't suppose _they're _related,"

"No, all his relatives were killed when he was."

Tim ground his teeth so hard it felt like his skull was vibrating.The distance seemed to stretch into miles and miles, with all the voices whispering inside his head.Absent mindedly Tim tapped the side of his glasses, switching to non-magical mode.Almost nothing changed, except for the ceiling, which became instead just a dark bowl of marble high, high above his head.He tapped them again, wanting to see the weather.A midnight sky sprinkled with stars.Not a cloud.Nice weather.

He almost missed the stairs, but he climbed them, so now he was above all the students.He could see every face, turned on him, from palest to the darkest,thousands of eyes staring at him.A bizarre feeling over came him.It felt as though every set of eyes in the room had become a beam of light, and every light was focused on him.Tim walked over to the stool, lifted the hat, sat down, and slipped the hat over his eyes.

The immediate darkness was welcomed—now he could no longer see the many, many faces.

_I like your glasses._

Tim had been expecting this, but he still gave a start at hearing this strange, whispering voice inside his ears.

_Nice…Flitwick's work?I always said he should start selling those to people, but he likes this job well enough.But hey, enough about him…let's talk about you.You're a lot like James—just like your brother, but there's one thing that separates you two—you're by far smarter—he's braver.So Harry's a Gryffindor.That suits him—and I know you'd like it to suit you—but some twins just don't think alike, and Tim, it's going to be RAVENCLAW!!_

Tim slipped the hat off, aware of a tremendous cheering making his ears ring, most of which came from the second table on the left.Tim shakily stood, smiling weakly, and trundled down the stairs.He could see Harry at the next table over from his, looking disappointed, but cheering anyway.He sank into an empty seat, his legs feeling like rubber bands.

"Are you related to Harry Potter, per chance?"

Tim glanced at the girl across the table.She was short—about a head shorter than him—and Asian, with dark, almond-shaped eyes and long, inky black hair."Well, yes, I am actually," he said rather hesitantly.

She smiled."I thought so.You look a lot alike.My name's Cho Chang, and I think you're going to like Ravenclaw."

A girl down the table snorted rudely.She was slender and quite beautiful, except for the nasty expression on her face.Her hair was a glowing silvery-gold, her eyes large and a vivid blue-green."How could anyone have fun in Ravenclaw with all these boys around?"

"Don't mind Lux," Cho whispered to him."She's always been hassled about her looks, so she kind of hates men."

Lux snorted again, applying herself to the food set before her as if by eating it, Tim and Cho would disappear too.

Tim served himself some lobster.The food here was very good—with an amazing variety."So," he began, serving himself a bit of a strange fruit he'd never seen before "What's Ravenclaw like?"

Cho rolled her eyes."Well, our Quiddich team is awful this year because all three of our Chasers and our best Beater graduated last year."

"Do you play?" Tim asked with interest.He liked flying okay—Harry had let him try out his Firebolt once.

"Seeker," Cho replied through a mouthful of sprouts."I'm Captain, but I don't want to be.I'm not a good leader.Plus I don't get all those charts that our old captain left behind."A flicker of sadness came over the pretty girl, and she sighed."Cedric used to explain them to me last year, that's why I didn't have any problems in my fifth year."

"Did he graduate?" Tim asked, picking apart a strange pastry with his fork.

Cho looked down."No.He'd didn't get the chance.He died a week before graduation."

Tim shifted uncomfortably."I'm really sorry," he said awkwardly.

"It's okay.I'm almost used to saying it now," she said softly."But I hope I never am."She shook her head, then changed the subject."Well, are you planning on trying out for the Ravenclaw Quiddich team?God knows we need some new players…we cam in last two years in a row…it was humiliating."

Tim swallowed."Well, I don't have a broom, and I've only flown one once or twice," he said.

"Well, I was wondering, because your brother is—well, he flies very well.I was just wondering if it runs in your family—oh, speaking of which, is that your mother up there?" she asked, pointing to Laura, who was holding an animated discussion with Professor McGonagall.

Tim laughed."Oh, no.That's my aunt.She's been taking care of me since I was little."

Cho looked at him quizzically."How did you come to be here?Why now?"

"It's a fair long story," Tim said, though he really wouldn't mind telling Cho.She seemed like a nice, genuine sort.

The girl rolled her eyes."It's a fair long meal," she replied."Besides, ten-to-one you'll see a lot of me.You'll find time to finish later.Start now if you like."

Tim smiled a little."It all started on the day You-Know-Who was maimed," he began.

***

Biana cowered under the onslaught of blows.

"He's alive?Why isn't he dead?" the hissing voice raged, going from English to Parseltounge and back."WHY ISN"T HE DEAD?"

"Master, master please—argh!I don't know!"

"OF COURSE YOU DON"T KNOW, YOU LAZY LIZARD!" he shrieked, hitting her with the whip again and again.Biana cried out again as the metal spikes drove deep into her scaly hide.

"Who is this boy, master?" she cried, cowering into a ball, her blood running down her golden skin in scarlet streams."I know not this boy!"

"The other.The missing link.THEY HAVE THE ADVANTAGE NOW, AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!"He swung at the cowering Dreki again, but fell short.He planted a heavy kick in her ribs and sent her flying against the wooden door."GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU WORTHLESS SCALEY CREATURE!"

Biana slipped through the door, sobbing great, tearless sobs.Her back surely was flayed even of the meanest scrap of skin, her whole body oozed blood and fluid.Halfway down the hall her legs gave out and she collapsed, dragging herself with her arms forward, her muscles burning at every inch forward.She cried out again as a gash on her belly opened against the stone, bits of gravel tearing the exposed muscle.

"Biana?He beats you?"She looked up from her pitiful position on the floor.Severus Snape stood at his cell door.It was strange to see him so much taller than her."He did!" he said, looking wonderingly at her."Look at you!"

Words, in any language, were beyond the lizard girl now. She moaned, scratching at the floor in a vain attempt to move."Ju?" she called."JU!"

Severus crouched by the Dreki that had helped him stay in the mortal realms for almost a week."Should I try to get someone?"

Biana shook her head and pushed herself to a sitting position just as someone knocked on the cell door."Ju!" she cried in agony."Come in, Ju!"

Ju was a skeletal creature.A shorter female Dreki of maybe only six foot nine, she was icily beautiful.Her skin was a crystal white, her hair was the same color and left down to hang over her back.A flowing dress the same pale blue as her slitted eyes swept the ground as she came and knelt by Biana.Drawing a pouch from the folds of her gown, she asked "He did this?What did you do?"

Biana turned over so that the healer could start with the whip-marks on her back."I did nothing," she said, groaning against the bite of the medicine on her scratches.

"He never whips for nothing," Ju added."Bite on this."She handed a strip of leather to the younger lizard-girl.

"He did today," Biana replied, then shrieked as Ju drew a bone needle through her flesh.

Ju whacked her lightly on the back of the head."I shouldn't be doing this, you know.You probably deserved what you got.I only treat you because I owe you a debt.He catches me, then debt or no I'll never treat you again."Biana didn't say anything.Drops of sweat rolled down her forehead as she ground her teeth and moaned in pain as Ju neatly stitched up the worst of the lacerations.She dabbed a thick white ointment on the cuts and bandaged it heavily.She handed Biana a small jar as the girl got to her feet."Drink this for the pain, and find someone who can get you a dress to cover those.If he finds out…"Ju shuddered."Biana, what did you do?"

"I'm telling you, I did nothing," she gasped, trying to stand up."He just came in and started beating me."

Ju snorted."It is not fitting for the Dreki to lie," she said coldly."Master is a good man.There must have been a reason."She turned in a swirl of blue skirts and white hide and disappeared out the door.

Severus, forgotten until now, slid down to Biana's eye-level."I don't like her," he said."Not one bit."

Biana's hand moved to the pad she used to speak to him._She's changed since HE came into power.He adores her.She's one of our most beautiful._

"Her voice is ugly," Snape replied."And so is her manner."

Biana nodded wearily.She drank the potion and settled down, not daring to rest her scarred back against the wall.Sleep came quickly, a release from the pain.


	9. Jemma

**Unplottable Island**

Chapter 9: Jemma

Authors Blab: Credit for this chpter goes to the awesome music video by P.O.D. for mood music and general insperation.The next chapter is over half way done and focuses more on Tim than on the Dreki *dodges cabbages* okaaaay. Fine. Read, review, you know what to do.

Biana awoke to agony, as a hand shook her roughly. "Wake up! If you're dead, then I'm the one who's going to get flayed!"

She moaned. "Stop, please, my back, my ba—argh!"

Boaz looked at her, his green eyes unusually large in his silvery face. "A Dreki is dead, Biana. Jemma was found this morning, her throat slit and her hide in tatters."

Biana stopped struggling. "He slew a Dreki? And her Dragon didn't respond?" _Jemma?_ Her mind wailed. Jemma was a younger Dreki, barely into adulthood. Her vivid black and silver coloring reflected clearly in her mind's eye. She was—had been—beautiful. "Why? Was he trying to…?"

"Apparently not." Boaz sighed. "But Biana, we can't do anything. His magic is so much more powerful than ours…and he only uses it for good."

"But he forbids us to have children, Boaz," she said softly. "A good man would never do such a thing. He knows we need every child, for without them we _will _die out."

"Our numbers are still great," Boaz said, resting his hand against Biana's cheek. "Ten score elders, twenty score of our age, and at least four score of the littlest."

"That's six hundred and eighty of us, and almost three hundred of us are too old, too young, or too weak to fight. Our numbers are few, and will become fewer," Biana protested, pushing away from the other Dreki. "He is not of our people, and yet he imposes birthrates on us. He kills one of our people without consulting the elders to see if he should. He is bad, Boaz."

Boaz said nothing, but the slight nod of his head as he smoothed her hair back into it's complicated mass of knots and braids showed his consent. "I brought you a new dress," he said in a change of subject. "Ju told me to bring you one." 

Biana accepted it and slid into another cell to put it on. It was less fine than her ruined dress, but silk and satin were both going out of season anyway. This was wool, dark red, with faint patterns of darker red at the sleeves and hem. "Thank you," she said, stepping out, but Boaz had already disappeared.

Ju walked in. Today she was wearing a black dress with complex silver embroidery. Her blue eyes were narrowed to slits in her silver face. "Hello, Biana," she said coldly. Biana looked at her, confused.

"Where'd you get that, Ju?" she asked.

"None of your business," Ju hissed, one of her silvery hands going to the fine fabric. "Jemma's dead."

The golden Dreki shifted nervously. "Yes, I'd heard. Is her funeral service tonight?"

"No," Ju spat. "There isn't going to be a funeral service, and even if there was, you wouldn't be allowed."

Biana recoiled from the anger in Ju's voice. "What do you mean? Is Ju not being mourned properly—and why wouldn't I be allowed?"

The silver Dreki spat on the stone floor, her words dripping with poison. "You are the causer-of-death for Jemma. If it weren't for you, Jemma would be alive!" she half-shrieked.

She shrank away. "I would never hurt Jemma! She was my best friend!"

"You killed her! She died because of you!" Ju screamed. Outside a dragon screamed too, beating it's wings and roaring at the sun.

Biana was shocked. Ju was way out of line—it was a responsibility to keep your emotions under control so that they did not upset your dragon! "Calm yourself before your dragon kills us all!" Biana hissed. "I did not kill Jemma!"

"You did! You should have died, not Jemma!" Ju reverted back to a hiss of contempt. "You scaly worthless piece of dung," she snapped, then strode out of the hall, the fine silver-and black-dress swishing behind her. The door slammed.

Biana sat in total shock. The one Dreki she'd thought would reassure her at this confusing time had just crushed her hopes.

"Biana? What was that all about?"

She walked down to the last cell, where Severus Snape stood, face pale and hair in disarray. Only his eyes remained the same, a spark in the depths. Not beaten yet. He handed her the notepad. She slid down to the floor, the muscles in her legs trembling at this small walk.

_He killed a Dreki: Jemma. You wouldn't know her, but one of the agreements when he parleyed with us was that he would not kill any of us. It's hard for us to bear children. He knows that. He's undermining our society._

"Okay, then what was with that Ju lizard…that is her name? Yes. Well, she sounded mad."

_I don't know._ At Snape's questioning look, she added _She didn't really have a reason to act like that. Jemma wasn't related to her. I didn't even think Ju knew who Jemma was until today, when Jemma was killed._

"How easy is it to kill a Dreki?" Biana shot him a withering look. "Stop it. I wanted to know because, well, if he has a hard time killing you off, then you'll have more time to resist."

_I wouldn't know. None of us have died for almost a millennium._

"And how old are you?"

_One millennium, six centuries, four decades, five years and about one hundred and twenty-seven days._

Snape gave her an odd look. "Just years would have been okay."

_1645 years._

"And how mature are you considered?" Biana shrugged. "Guess. Are you a teenager, young adult, mature adult…?"

_Young adult._

"So you pretty much live forever."

_That's about it._

"God," Snape moaned. "This gets worse and worse. I just wish we had a translator or something so that we could talk faster. Someone who speaks Parseltounge."

_Are there any others besides my Lord?_

"None that I would trust," Snape snapped. "It is a Dark trait, you know." Biana pointed at herself. "Well, that's what I've always heard. Sorry." Biana waved it off. She gestured impatiently at the paper. "Okay, okay. We need to find someone who hates my Lord, who speaks both Parseltounge and English, and is somewhere close to here. Where is 'here' anyway?"

_Scandinavia. What you mortals call Norway._

"I can't think of anyone!' Snape complained. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. Biana was suddenly struck by how very thin he was. Even inside the loose black robes he wore she could see the curving outlines of his ribs. His arms were so thin that they looked fragile and his cheekbones made white mountain peaks above the dark hollows of his eyes.

_What about your students? Are you hungry?_

"None of them would understand! And yes, I am very hungry. What do Dreki eat?"

_Raw meat. _Seeing his look of disgust, she added _I can find something else._

"I'm hungry enough to eat a llama, fleece and all," Snape proclaimed. "Raw. Anything would be great."

Biana grinned wickedly, making a mental note to include some wool in Snape's meal. She left the room to go find some food suitable for a human, smiling slightly and shaking her head. What an oddball human being.


	10. Connection

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 10: Connection**

**By Raquel**

Tim bent over his essay in the half-dark common room, glasses flecked with tiny ink spots. He looked at the book he was copying from, so he could see exactly what use the Personal Transfiguration had played in the assassination of Vlad the Impaler in the 14th century. It was very complicated.

After sixteen years of limited learning, Tim's mind took to learning like a mall rat to Saks. He accepted the challenge of proving he knew what was necessary to be in the sixth year with an eagerness some would call unnatural. Luckily for Tim, he was in Ravenclaw, where anyone without a 4.0 grade average was considered a slacker. He, being the new kid and Harry Potter's brother, was almost instantly rather popular. Lots of people automatically accepted him because Cho had, and lots of people had nothing but admiration for a boy related to Harry Potter. Of course, he had also inherited some of his brothers enemies. A few Hufflepuffs made a point not to speak to him, which bothered Tim a little. He hadn't really done anything bad to them, and he didn't really want to talk to Cho about it because it obviously had something to do with Cedric.

Then there was Draco Malfoy. He had made a special point to trip Tim in the hallway and crow to his cronies about how all the Potters were alike, clumsy until they were in the air or dead. Tim, face burning, had scrambled away, fuming silently. At least he had Harry and Cho, who liked him despite the fact that he was shy and smart. And of course there was Lux, who had to be the most bad-tempered, obnoxious girl at Hogwarts. She was probably also one of the most beautiful, what with her silver hair and crystal-clear green-blue eyes. She also hated Draco Malfoy possibly even more than Tim.

Tim's eyes crinkled behind his glasses, recalling the memorable scene a week before when Malfoy had made a pass at Lux.

"Hello, beautiful," Draco had said, whistling as the blonde had walked by. Tim had immediate perked up, watching as Lux spun to face Malfoy.

"Excuse me?" Lux purred, pushing a silver-gold stand of hair behind an ear. "What did you say to me?" All the Ravenclaws and the other students who knew of Lux's record backed away. She was all kittenish, winding a strand of silver-gold hair around her finger.

To a wiser boy than Draco Malfoy, the silken tone coming from Lux would have been a warning to _back off._ "I said, hello beautiful," Draco said, stepping a little closer. "And now that I see your face, I can see that it's very true." Apparently he had been expecting Lux to melt in his arms like any girl at Hogwart would have. What he wasn't expecting hit him hard.

Tim had winced, laughing at the same time as Draco had hit the ground on his knees, shock upon his face as he clutched at his now bruised groin. Lux had leaned down, smiling benignly at the agony on his handsome features. "Never call me beautiful unless you want to be sterile. Good bye, Malfoy." She had turned and walked away, given a wide berth by the other students. Harry and Tim had laughed until their stomachs hurt.

Cho hadn't been there—she was desperately searching for four new team members. Tim felt sorry for her—she was trying to decipher the messy charts left to her by the previous captain, and was interviewing candidate after candidate with no success whatsoever. It seemed that all Ravenclaws were all brains and no flying skill. She'd offered him a position on the team, but he didn't have a broom stick and frankly his skills weren't altogether great. It seemed that Ravenclaw was about to face another year of loss after loss.

There was knock on the entrance: a suit of armor named Sir Lot, who was very clever and enjoyed quizzing the Ravenclaws before letting them into their common room. He was also never at a loss for words—he always had the last word.

"I say, old chap, do I look like a bloody door knocker to your distinguished green eyes? You've got to know the password, silly boy!"

Tim scrambled down from his armchair and pushed on the door that Sir Lot was bolted to. "Hullo?"

"Bad form, young chappie. Should at least give good old 'who goes there' before opening a door on the unknown, and 'Hullo' is not a suitable challenge for friend or foe."

"Shut up," Tim replied, pushing the door open farther to admit the boy who stood outside. "Hi Harry. Just ignore him next time, he never shuts up."

"Same to you, laddy!"

Harry slipped inside. "Are you lot still going at your homework? Nothing's due for at least three or four days."

Tim sighed, looking with despair at the blotted essay at his table. "That's good. Writing with a quill takes practice."

"And aren't you getting some! Look at this! Does Professor McGonagall hate you or something?"

"No, she just expects more from Ravenclaws. Having a scholarly reputation cuts both ways," Tim replied. "How's Sirius?"

"Good. Dumbledore has him sniffing around pubs, trying to find some hint of where Snape may be now." Harry sighed. "I don't really have an objection to Aunt Laura teaching the class, it's just disturbing to think that Voldemort snatched him right off the grounds. If he got him he could get us."

The twins both pushed their glasses higher on their noses and grinned: their motions were exactly alike. "So? Has he found anything?"

"Just a lot of wild rumors about people who speak to dragons, or people who are part dragon, who are eight or nine feet tall with scales. Voldemort supposedly found the last tribe of these people and has them and their dragons and is planning an attack this week or next year or tomorrow." Harry raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Dragons though…"

Tim shuddered. "Urgh. But what could _He_ possibly want with a Professor from Hogwarts?" He'd only seen a memory of Snape—a tall, scary looking man with oily hair and black, pit-like eyes.

"Information. Snape was a Death Eater, you know. He came back to our side, but Voldemort hates him for it. Aunt Laura says if we ever see Snape alive again it will be if Voldemort brings him to Hogwarts before he performs a curse on him." Harry waved his arms around expressively.

The red-headed boy shrugged and began filling in his star-chart for Astronomy. "You can't seriously believe that he'd come to Hogwarts," Tim said reassuringly. "He's too scared of Dumbledore, right?"

Harry sagged in his chair. "You know, if you'd said that last year or even the year before, I'd have answered with a firm yes. But this year, especially since you and Laura returned—he's just a very very old man, Tim. He's over a hundred and fifty now. And sometimes I think even Dumbledore is worried about a Hogwarts takeover sometimes. Voldemort went ballistic when he found out about—well…" Harry paused, a little unsettled by the look on Tim's face. He'd stopped filling in the star chart and was staring at Harry open-mouthed. "What is it?"

"What do you mean, he went ballistic? This has to do with me, doesn't it?" Tim demanded, pushing away his papers. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything?"

Harry stood up. "I really should go."

Tim blocked his way to the doorway. "Does this have anything to do with the nightmares I've been having?"

Both boys froze, the same image in their minds. A whip, whistling through the air, the steady dripping of blood, screams too faint to be heard but still felt. The deep, emotional turmoil that woke them both in the darkest hours of the night, breathing hard and seeing a menial graveyard, little rocks with names dreadfully clear on the smooth surfaces. Both of their right hands twitched, reaching for a hand to pull themselves up.

"This is too weird," Tim said. His tone was meant to be joking, but the hollowness behind the laugh told more than the words.

Harry brushed his bangs away from his forehead. "Do you suppose there was something they forgot to tell us? Because you wouldn't think that we'd be so alike—we aren't identical or anything, but still—the dream," he said firmly. "It's the same for you, isn't it?"

"What if it is?" Tim asked. "I don't understand this."

"I don't think you can really understand this," Harry said slowly. "I want to go talk to Sirius about this. Come with me?"

"No," Tim said. "I've got to finish this essay. I'll talk to Laura in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"'Night Tim."

"Goodnight Harry."


	11. Welcome to Hell

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 11: Welcome to Hell**

**By Raquel, who apologizes for the lateness of this chapter.**

Laura strode outside, breathing in deep breaths of air, throwing her head back to stare at the stars. Most were hidden by a bar of clouds that obscured the right half of the sky, making the others look extra bright. Laura pulled her hair loose and flopped down in the grass, glad to do nothing but sit and look at the stars, feeling a warm breeze against the frosty grass. Crystal-like clinking came from deep within the woods—the sound of a unicorn's hoofs on the ground.

There. That star was Sirius, and this one—well, Laura had never really remembered it's real name, but she'd always called it Lily, because it was right next to another—James. Twin stars. Maybe not Lily and James, but Tim and Harry. Whatever. She scanned the sky again. A queer bowlike formation was Sagittarius—the archer. Also the centaur. Maybe both—she'd never met a centaur who couldn't hit anything he aimed at first try.

Blue eyes sparked with the reflections of countless stars, lighting her thin, angular face with a mystical light that shadowed her eye pits and left the white of her eyes to glare out. The silver streak in her hair glowed, a reminder of life and the downs as well as the ups. Memory's seeped into her brain, and the starlight in her eyes doubled and spilled out of her blue orbs into streams of light down her face—tears. Laura lowered her head ruefully.

James. Lily. Sirius. This was silly. _Stop crying, _she commanded herself. And she did—though a few still glistened in streams on her face.

She rolled over. The dark forest lay in front of her, a band of black trees and glowing eyes. Laura shivered and made to go back inside. She wanted to talk to Tim. Harry'd just been to see Sirius, something about he and Tim having odd dreams—odd, that. Sirius had asked Laura if she'd known anything. Of course! She'd been present at their birth, she knew that Harry would have died if one of the skilled wizard doctor's hadn't placed a thin wire of magic connecting their souls. Rather dangerous, but since it had cured Harry and done much for Tim nobody had thought better of it.

Now Laura was having second thoughts. She should break the connection, she knew. They no longer needed it, but it was dangerous. If Tim or Harry died now, so would the other one. If only she knew if breaking the connection would hurt them! Pulling her cloak tighter around her body, she headed for the great doors.

_Ssssss—thunk!_

Nightshade the centaur galloped out, holding his bow and arrow steady in his human hands. He had the human parts of a twenty-year old with black hair and eyes and skin the color of cocoa, the horse parts of a stallion with black tail and inky body. His eyes darted furtitively around as he scooped the limp woman into his arms. She weighed little.

The muted noise of his hoofs echoed into the woods as he stopped by the tall Dreki guarding the path. "Here is the woman, Boaz. Now, the payment we discussed." He held out a hand for his money. 

Boaz just smiled, his face eerie in the starlight. He reached into his bag for a sack and handed it to the centaur. "_Here._"

Greedily Nightshade yanked the string—and a cloud of foul smelling gas shot into his face. The centaur stumbled, tripped and fell to the ground, gasping for air and retching, heavy stomach muscles heaving as his breath grew shorter, and finally went limp, his poisoned blood trickling down his chin to mingle with the stream flowing beneath the body. Boaz kicked at Nightshade, just to be absolutely sure he was indeed dead, and ran off, carrying a human female in his arms, barely breathing, but alive!

Downstream, a half-giant named Hagrid scooped a bucket full of water from the stream, pouring it into a barrel for breakfast the next morning…

Laura came around in a cell, her hand in front of her face. Which was odd, because she didn't remember having such long nails. Or such large hands. She tried lifting her head off the ground, but a lancelet of pain ricocheted from temple to temple on her head, a billiard ball of pain bouncing from side to side on her skull. Her lips felt dry and tight across her face, which smarted like it had been scrubbed with sand. She was cold and damp and lying on some floor somewhere in great pain. Laura sniffled, wiping her nose on the frayed black robes that had replaced her nice blue ones.

"Hello."

Laura clamped hands over her ears, screwing up her eyes as more pain swept through her head. She rolled over onto her stomach, supporting her head on her hands. It was dark in this tiny room, but there was a steady dripping of water somewhere and a shaft of light through the barred front wall. Through the bars a slender, tall figure was bending to peer at her, amber eyes wide in a golden face with a narrow chin and wide, high cheek bones. Black hair was braided into many tiny braids and knotted at the back of it's head. Slit-pupiled eyes blinked as the face hissed softly, almost gently.

Laura screamed, scrambling away regardless of her aching head and pain-filled body. She put full weight on her right shoulder and collapsed against the back wall, gasping in pain and fright.

A hand covered her mouth firmly. "Shut up, do you want to be killed?" Laura shook her head, pressing her dry lips tightly together. The hand left. It retreated into the lap of it's owner, a tall, skeletal man, with long, dark hair and pit-like eyes shadowed in the dim light.

"Snape!" she exclaimed, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she whispered. "And what is that thing outside?"

Severus Snape looked at her oddly, scrutinizing her face, hair, and—she noted in an annoyed way—her body behind the faded black robe. "Potter?" Nod. "I should have know you'd be here soon. And 'that thing' is a Dreki, it's a she, and her name is Biana. You scared her when you screamed."

Laura maneuvered into a cross-legged position on the cold floor. "What's that supposed to mean? And I am sorry I yelled," she told Biana, who dismissed it with a graceful wave of her hand. "You understand what I'm saying?" she asked, in a sort of wondering way. Biana nodded briskly, seating herself. She wore a bright red dress that swept her ankles—her feet were bare and had clawed toes.

"Of course she does. She just doesn't speak English," Snape said. "I thought you would know that." His tone was condescending, oily. It made Laura want to slap him.

"Unless my memory was affected by whatever knocked me out, I remember that I was best in Transfiguration, Charms, and Astronomy—not Defense Against the Dark Arts or Care of Magical Creatures," Laura snapped.

"In my profession, we learn to work hard at our weak points, not our strong ones."

"Your profession is murderer."

Biana hissed softly, scratching down writing in a slanted, orient script on a worn pad. She held it out.

_Stop fighting, you foolish humans. There are other things to be done here beside quibble like dragonets barely out of the shell._

Laura and Snape exchanged glances that clearly read 'Just you wait' and settled back against the wall. The Dreki jumped as a knock on the outside door shook the room. Snape collapsed, staring at the wall blankly. "Do it," he hissed at Laura. "Alert humans frighten them." Laura went limp, noting with another jolt of annoyance that because of the limited room in the cell she was practically on top of Snape. It was wrong, nasty, gross, foul, groudy, vile,—Laura amused herself with her many adjectives for her current feelings of revulsion.

She let her mouth hang slack and left her eyes open the merest crack. The door swung open with another bang that made Laura's head pound.

At first she thought it was a skeleton, but it turned out to be another Dreki with white and silver scales, shorter than Biana and slender as a willow branch, wearing a fine dress of blue-velvet with black-and-silver embroidery all around the hems and long sleeves. Next to Biana's tattered, plain red wool dress, she looked like a princess. She began hissing in Parseltounge to Biana, who answered.

Laura frowned, frustrated. Whether it was the language or the species, the Dreki had very little body language. She couldn't understand a word of their conversation, and there weren't any facial expressions to give it away.

_The connection…_A voice in her mind whispered. _Your connection…_

The connection. How stupid of her. She reached inside herself, looking for the pale, thin thread that connected her to the twins. Well, actually just to Tim, but Tim and Harry were connected, so she could get to him if she tried. She gently reached inside Harry's mind—he was asleep, good—and looked around. It appeared to her as a hazy room, not really there physically, with cupboards and boxes, some with their contents strewn about, other's locked up tight. She searched around—only a few were labeled—and stirred a box Sirius had told her about. Parseltounge. Good thing he could speak it—now she could understand it. Dark trait or no, this was useful.

For future reference, she strengthened her connections to both of them. Now the thin threads appeared thicker, a steady golden glow in her mind's eye. Good. She had never been gladder to be related to a pair of such versatile brothers. Too bad this could only be done to family members—people who shared a common ancestor tended to think on the same pattern, making it possible to connect with another's mind. Tim and Harry's connection was a good example, but they didn't know how to use it.

Laura opened her eyes onto the empty hallway. Growling in annoyance, she lurched upright. "Where'd they both go?"

Snape was sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth, his eyes tightly closed. His arms were wrapped around his knees, drawing himself into a small space than Laura thought possible. "What's wrong? What's happening?" Snape still said nothing, just looked frightened. It was beginning to freak Laura out. When had she ever seen him scared, or anything but cool, confident, and removed? "What is it?" she demanded of the other man. "What's going on?"

A hand tapped her shoulder. Laura spun to look at them, and her face was hit by such a force that she spun back around the other way, stumbling and falling, sliding down the wall. She bit back a cry.

"Well, well. Look at the little kitten roar."

Laura muffled a whimper as Lord Voldemort descended upon her, red eyes lit with fury.


	12. Gone

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 12: Gone**

Tim woke up that morning to someone shaking him very hard. He was awake within seconds, thrashing out of his blankets. Sleep had been elusive that night, and he was only dozing anyway—but who on earth felt the need to wake him like that?

"Wassamatter?" he asked groggily, groping for his glasses from the bedside table. "Who's there?"

"Tim," said Harry, whose face came sharply into focus as Tim hooked the glasses over his ears. "Wake up."

"I am awake, thanks to you," Tim replied grumpily. "Why are you here?"

Harry grabbed his twin by the shoulder and began walking him towards the common room. "Dumbledore wants to see us in his office now—it's probably about Snape or something new about Voldemort. Dumbledore's been worried because Snape just vanished off the grounds, and you aren't supposed to be able to do that." He licked his lips nervously. "I don't like it."

"What I don't like is all this 'emotional state' rubbish all the teachers lay on me whenever I ask a question. Ask about Evil Dude and they say I can't handle it. I can handle it," Tim replied. He shoved his glasses higher up on his nose as they exited through Sir Lot, who immediately began ragging on Harry for entering the Common Room.

"—And you, Sir Tim, should never trust anyone with something so secret as my password! I should change it right now and tell no one, that'll teach you all to respect me! See how you like it in a night without beds, alone in the corridors…" he continued, his voice becoming an annoying clatter as they rounded a corner and began the ascent to Dumbledore's office.

"I feel sorry for you," Harry said fervently. "I mean, we've got the Fat Lady and she can be a real pain in the arse when she gets going, but this suit of armor never shuts up, does he?"

"Never," Tim said. "Don't argue with him, it just encourages him to fight back."

Harry snorted. "Has anyone ever tried to blow him up? I would." He made a few motions with his wand and sent a cloud of orange smoke _poof _into the air.

"Actually it's a Ravenclaw tradition—a rite of passage or something. If you're powerful or clever enough to make Sir Lot shut up—or blow up—then you're basically automatically accepted." Tim sighed. "I think most of the seventh years can, but there's this one little girl who everyone though was an idiot in the second year who blew his helmet off. Funniest thing you've ever seen, all those sixth years trying every day and that little girl just coming up to Sir Lot one day and BAM." He waved his hands around for extra effect.

"Really? Sounds fun—blast. Ready to guess the password?" Harry paused in front of the great stone gargoyle.

"Sure. Chocolate Frogs."

"Everlasting Gobstoppers!"

"Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans!"

"I don't think he likes those, Tim. Blood-Flavored Lollipops!"

"Oh, sorry. Lemon Drop!"

"Peppermint Toads!"

The gargoyle jumped aside, and Harry went up first, triumphant. Tim followed, resolving that the next time he had to come to Dumbledore's office he would be the one to guess the password. 

"Hey Harry, hey Tim," called Sirius, who was sitting on a chair in the main office. "You guys know what's up?"

"Not a clue," replied Harry. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"In his office," Sirius waved at the seats. "Sit down. We're waiting for Laura."

"No. We aren't." Dumbledore entered, drawn up and surrounded by a force so strong and so very angry that Tim was suddenly afraid of him. "We have discovered how Voldemort captured Professor Snape." He sighed, a short, briskly disappointed sigh that stirred his long white whiskers. "Voldemort has a pact with a certain sect of centaurs that live within our own Forbidden Forest. One of these centaurs, named Edark, was responsible for the abduction of Severus Snape. He is by now most certainly dead."

"Why is this, Professor?" Harry asked tentatively.

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "Centaurs have their own way of dealing with law breakers. The lawbreakers go to the people they've wronged—for instance, had Edark killed another centaur, the family of that centaur would be free to do with him as they wished. In this case, by breaking the pact with Hogwarts, he has wronged the whole tribe. Centaurs are rarely merciful."

"Oh," said Harry in a very small voice.

"For money, this sect of centaurs were paid to abduct Severus Snape and hand him over to Voldemort," Dumbledore summarized.

"Are the others being punished?" Sirius demanded.

Dumbledore smiled again, so thinly it was almost sarcastic. "Oh, possibly. The last remaining member, named Nightshade, was found dead last night in a stream barely inside the Forbidden Forrest, poisoned by the most deadly poison I've seen in years. The dosage given this one centaur was enough to lay low half the city of London."

Sirius whistled. Tim shrugged and resettled himself in his seat. "What's that got to do with anything?" he asked. "Sorry, that came out wrong. But what does Nightshade's death have to do with anything?"

"Oh, everything, young Mr. Potter. Everything." Dumbledore looked from face to face, so grave Tim began to get worried. "Nightshade's death was observed by one other centaur, named Firenze." Harry and Sirius both sat up a little straighter. "Firenze is now dead, but before he died, he gave us the most interesting account."

Sirius looked puzzled. "How could Firenze be dead?" he asked. "I knew him, growing up—he was too clever to get himself killed, and he would never seriously break a law!" Harry nodded.

"Poison. The same poison that killed Nightshade, to be precise. Firenze saw Nightshade hand over a woman to a very tall, lizard-like man, and then Nightshade fell down and died. Firenze ran after the creature, but it ran far too fast. Firenze came back to the centaur herd, told a few people, and less than an hour later fell into a fever and died."

"A woman? A lizard-like man?" Sirius demanded. "Who was it? Tell me who it was!" he said in a tone of voice neither Harry nor Tim had ever heard from Sirius or would use with Dumbledore.

"Sirius Black!" Dumbledore snapped. "Show respect, please!" Sirius mumbled an apology, looking abashed. "The lizard-like man was not Voldemort, which confirms rumors of Voldemort having Dreki working for him. I'm having the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes cover Dreki in their next lesson, so Harry and Tim will learn about them later. The important thing was the woman he carried." Dumbledore looked down, and when he met all their eyes again, Tim _knew_ whom it was.

"It was Laura, wasn't it?" he asked softly. "Laura went out walking last night—"

"No!" Sirius cried, springing to his feet. "It's isn't true! It can't be! Laura--" He wheeled on Dumbledore. "It isn't, is it?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"No!" Sirius sat down, burying his hands in his hair. Tim blinked slowly, aware of a smaller person screaming in his head, panicking. He didn't feel that panic on the surface, only coolness like water moving slowly across his body. He shivered. Something was wrong with him, he thought. He should be crying, accepting that he'd never see Laura again.

Instead he said, "We can get her back." It sounded so logical to him.

Sirius shook his head. "We don't even know where he's residing as of now," he said. "He has no reason to keep Laura alive."

"Actually, we have a vague idea," Dumbledore said. "He's in the Scandinavian region, somewhere close to where the last colony of Dreki was seen." He shook his head. "The last colony of Dreki was seen in 1635." Dumbledore looked straight at Tim. "And he does have a reason for keeping Laura alive."

Harry whistled. Tim sat very still. "Me?" he breathed softly. "But—why?"

"Twins are special." Dumbledore said simply. "Harry nearly defeated him once, and _you_ are his twin. He takes it for granted that _you_ have some special power about you."

"And he's made himself immune to any special protection I had," Harry continued.

"I've nothing special about me!" Tim exclaimed.

Dumbledore sighed. "Voldemort doesn't know that." Sirius moaned.

Authors Note: Okay, Disclaimer time! Anything you recognize as belonging to JK Rowling does, in fact, belong to her. The art of Illusions, though in my fic not taught by the admirable Airelle Vilka, was in fact inspired by that (keep writing, Airelle!). Timothy Potter, Laura Potter, the Dreki and a few of the centaurs are my mind-children, though I like the Dreki best…*smile* Thank you.


	13. Unlucky

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 13: Unlucky**

****

Laura collapsed on the ground nearly an hour later, sobbing unashamedly. Her body hurt so badly she felt her joints coming unglued. She had never felt such pain, even once when she was twelve and had fallen thirty feet from her broomstick onto the bleachers of the Quidditch field.

"Had enough?" Voldemort asked, circling around her. She could see his flat-soled, black leather boots from her worm's eye-level.

She hated him so much she felt her head pound. A man, so cruel as to live off other people's insanity and pain, sadistic and cold, unfeeling. A man who would keep her captive, using Unforgivable curses on a woman so that she would betray her own flesh and blood. Laura wouldn't admit to herself how close she had come to that breaking point, the point when information flowed freely from her lips before she was killed.

"I'll never tell." She tried to shout it defiantly, like James would have, but it came out a harsh singsong whisper that she could barely hear. "Never."

Like a puppet, she was stood on her feet by a great force she couldn't resist if she were healthy and functioning. She swayed once, falling backwards, then was caught and jerked forward again; her head snapped painfully. Laura could barely contain her screams as she was smashed flat on her back into the ground, a pressure like a giant boot heel grinding her into solid stone.

"Are you wondering something, kitten?" Voldemort asked, spinning her on the ground idly, her face scratched and bleeding. "Yes, you are. Why don't I use the Cruciatus Curse?"

Laura began to cry again as he brought her to a halt facedown at his feet. The salt stung her face. _No,_ she thought desperately._ I can't stand up to that. I'm not brave enough! I'll confess, and the twin's deaths will be MY fault, and I'll never be able to rest. _It didn't strike her as odd that she wanted to die. Anything would be better than lying prone at the Dark Lord's feet, sobbing like a newborn.

"Why don't I, kitten? Answer me! _Imperio!_"

Laura felt so light—she was floating an inch off the ground; it suited her fine, her whole body ached with the mere pressure of gravity. A white cloud of bliss, happiness, and little butterflies floated into her head, banishing the pain. The relief was indescribable, only the gentle voice in her head kept her awake and living.

_"You are merciful, my Lord. Say it, Laura. You are merciful, my lord. Say it and you can rest in peace. You are merciful, my lord. You are merciful, my lord. You are merciful, my lord. SAY IT."_

It wouldn't leave her alone: that slow nagging voice keeping her awake; keeping her from peace. She tried to roll over, to seek a more comfortable position to fall asleep in, and she nearly screamed aloud from the pain, bringing her nearly out of the Imperius Curse. _"You are NOT merciful, my lord," _she corrected the voice mindlessly. Something about that…a small voice awoke in the back of her head. _Why should I say it? It isn't true._

"It's not true!" she cried, snapping out of the curse with a jolt of pain that sent a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. "No!"

"Well then," Lord Voldemort said. His voice was very, very cold. "Since the little pains were not going to bend you, we'll have to skip a step. _Crucio!_"

Laura flailed, her muscles spasming as she thrashed around, screaming so loudly her head felt hollow. Her joints went backwards, her muscles all contracted at once, arching her like a bow off the stone floor. Her jaw snapped shut on her tongue and she felt, with horrible perception, her teeth meeting as her tongue split. Her head jerked, knocking against the stone again and again. The fingernails on her hand felt as though they were peeling off in a heat unknown to the word, blackening and falling off. Hammers beat her body, and Laura slipped into unconsciousness.

The tang of blood in her mouth brought her back to reality. She was back in her cell, but strapped tightly to the bars with red rags.

"Laura? Laura, wake up right now!"

She opened her eyes. Or rather, she opened her left eye; the right one was swollen shut. Focusing her eyes hurt. Laura opened her mouth to say something to the person who had woken her and felt a surge of blood run down her chin. Spitting it all out, she said thickly, "Am I in hell?"

Someone propped her head upright and bound it there with another red rag. A soft hissing in her ear startled her until she remembered: _Biana._ "Hello…" she moaned, more blood trickling over her chin. Snape appeared in front of her, and if Laura hadn't been completely immobilized she would have recoiled. He stuffed another rag in her mouth.

"We've got to stop the bleeding—don't you _dare _spit that out! You are a very lucky girl, Potter." Snape was dabbing something that stung in the scrapes on her face. "Lucky because Biana likes you and is willing to help me try and get you better, and lucky that you're still here and not sushi at HIS dinner table."

"Ah fell lye sit," Laura said around the rag.

Snape gave her an amused look. "Potter, you look like shit." She squirmed as the cuts on her face burned. "Stop moving or I _will_ stick this in your eye."

The rag was growing thick with blood, and Laura spat it out. "Don't lecture me!" she said weakly. "I'm not up for debate"—Snape snorted agreement—"shut up. Anyway, why am I tied like this? I feel like I've been crucified." How true.

Snape stuffed another rag in her mouth. "It's so you don't roll onto you right arm, which, by the way, was broken. Biana's good with broken bones, but she says to make a full recovery you'd need the skills of that Ju lizard—the whitish-silverish one that looks like a skeleton. She's the best, but she's being a bitch, so it's not an option." 

He was babbling, Laura though amusedly. Severus Snape, the man of the few words, was actually babbling. It was quite funny. She would have laughed if it hadn't hurt too much.

Biana was busy outside the cell, just within the range of Laura's peripheral vision. Her dress was a lot shorter than it had been before, barely modest. She was bent over a bowl, smashing something into a fine powder. Once Laura was used to looking at someone caught halfway between lizard and human, Biana was very pretty.

She spat out the rag again, and Snape examined it carefully. "You're lucky," he said again. "Your tongue wasn't bitten off, and you can still talk." He unbound the rag from around her forehead, giving her a freer range of motion. "Voldemort hasn't appeared for three days now, so we're going to splint your arm and hope for the best." He proceeded to untie her.

As soon as her back brace was gone, Laura collapsed foreword, feeling every vertebra as she fell. "Ow," she hissed, having the presence of mind to catch herself on her left arm. "Dammit…." Snape pulled her up into a standing position. His ribs poked her in the back as he guided her to the front of their cell.

Biana had opened the cell door enough to slip Laura out of it. She hissed softly at her as she gently positioned Laura in a position lying face up. Laura reached back in her mind for the connection—this time she'd be able to use it! —And, with great shock, she discovered it wasn't there. No matter how hard she focused, not even a shadow of golden glimmer showed in her mind.

_The connection was broken._ Laura had to think about that—she didn't think the connection _could _be broken unless she focused on it.

A sudden bolt of pain that ran up her arm into her very core caused her to gasp. Biana wrote something on her notepad and pushed it into Laura's face.

_I'm trying to set your arm—I can heal it in two hours if you do not fight me! You may lose focus for a few hours, but let it happen! It's all a part of the healing._

Laura nodded. Biana scratched another message on the pad.

_Relax. Breathe deeply._

Nervously, Laura closed her eyes. What on earth did the Dreki have in mind? She drew her breath in, held it, and then exhaled. In—hold it—and out. In—hold it—and out. In—hold it—and out. Nothing was happening. Laura relaxed a little, feeling easier.

A presence entered her mind. She couldn't see it with her eyes, but rather she felt it, in the same way she felt the presence of her now-broken connection to Tim. It was golden and almost human, but its feet were clawed.

_Relax…_the soft voice was soothing in her head. Laura's arm twitched as she felt something flow through the particles of her skin, like grains of sand working in from her pores to the bone. The feeling was so _alien_ that she tensed up, resisting this alien presence in her mind and body. _STOP IT!_ Another wave of relaxation flowed through her veins. All her muscles released; her mind focused on a peaceful vision of still waters. Laura knew nothing for quite sometime afterward.

Snape turned away, unable to watch as Biana healed Laura. Though the Dreki method was exceedingly effective as well as fascinating, it turned his stomach to see the bones of the woman's arm move of their own accord, centimeter by centimeter until they would finally fit back together into their original position. Such things made him slightly queasy.

_And I though I'd defeated that reflex long ago…_he mused to himself as he studied the floor. _But I guess watching someone die slowly becomes numbing—no, not numbing, but after hundreds each one loses their special meaning as a life._ Speaking of life, how on earth could Laura have withstood that beating that she'd took? He'd escaped the attentions of Lord Voldemort before—or perhaps he was being left to the unavoidable demise of hunger. That was probably it.

Snape glanced back at Laura, her face blank and relaxed. He hadn't thought she was brave enough to withstand so much agony—after all, she wasn't a Gryffindor, just a brainy Ravenclaw. Judging by her condition when Biana had carried her through the door, Voldemort had lost her before he had found out what he wanted. That wasn't necessarily good—that just meant he would try other ways of finding out what he wanted later.

But what could he want?

That was obvious. That red-haired boy that had been with her that first day when he'd been abducted. Some relation to Potter—Snape froze. No wonder Voldemort was so interested in Laura! He massaged his temples with his fingertips, feeling a headache coming on. That boy had to be James' son—Laura was far to young to have a teenage son. If he was James' son, then he was Harry's brother, and Voldemort had shown an uncanny interest in Harry ever since his birth. Going by the clues and the little Snape actually knew of Voldemort's personality, Voldemort would do nearly anything to get his hands on anyone left of the Potter clan, especially Harry Potter's twin brother.

"Oh god," he said softly to himself. "Oh my god." He knew the answer. If Laura didn't give up the information, Voldemort would take drastic steps to ensure that the red-haired boy was delivered safely into his power. _Anything_. Would he storm Hogwarts? No, he was clever. Would he attack Hogwarts?

"He will," Snape whispered, his voice drawing echoes. "Oh gods, but he will."


	14. Baby Norbert Returns

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 14: Baby Norbert**

Biana rose from her knees, lifting Laura as she stood. She carried the unresisting girl back to the cell, laying her opposite from the man Snape, who had fallen asleep. Now would be a good time to find some food for them, since most Dreki would either be sleeping or out with the dragons.

She tugged down her dress before walking outside, well aware of her immodest dress. Maybe she had a spare skirt somewhere, she thought vaguely as she walked through the low stone passageways of the lower levels. They were in no way rough tunnels, although their appearance was roughened by the lack of the tapestries and paintings that Voldemort had taken for his own viewing (and sometimes selling) pleasure. Exiting through the ramps that led to the upper level, Biana went to find her dragon's cave. 

Dreki and dragons were made for each other—almost literally. Many millenniums past, dragons had nearly killed off the human race altogether. A young and very brilliant man whose name was never known performed a magical maneuver unlike any other. He had taken a dragon's blood and crudely introduced it into the human system of five of his own children when they were infants. Three of them died, but two survived, male and female. These children slowly changed to be scarcely recognizable as human—taller, faster, and cleverer than other humans. They also grew tougher hide—something almost like pebbles fused into a single sheet. Finally and most importantly, they could control dragons. Most humans found this impossible to believe, considering the Dreki monsters. Because of this, Dreki lived deep in the mountains.

Biana nearly ran up the ramps to her room. Through the high arched door there was a very large room, nearly fifty meters high, just as wide, and seventy-five meters deep. In place of a wall at one side of the room there was only open space, making the room cold in the morning air. The room (as well as most other rooms in a Dreki home) was simply a very deep groove in a mountain. Biana's room was about midway down—not a choice view, nor easy access, suiting her rank.

_Been see mortals?_

A dragon, a mere twenty feet or so in length, pattered across the smooth-swept dirt floor with the grace of a big cat. It was a Norwegian Ridgeback, the second one Biana had been partnered to in the course of her life. She reached out her hand to it reassuringly, smiling indulgently when he butted his head against her hand to be scratched between the horny ridges on his back.

_Hello, Lrrch,_ Biana said affectionately. The dragon hummed back, pleased that she was home and well. _ Have you behaved while I was gone?_

_Lrrch good, much good, hungry. Much hungry as well, Biina. Eat hungry now? _The mind-voice was begging and pompous at the same time; the dragon was proud of his manners. Lrrch was a relatively young dragon—less than six years old, a mere adolescent in dragon years. Dragons are quick to reach maturity and slow to age after reaching young adulthood. Humans who worked to control the dragons that escaped Dreki control had brought Lrrch to the mountains. He had been hatched illegally in Northern Britannia, in a hut of some kind. Lrrch had told Biana this many times, proudly enforcing how quickly he had learned to breathe fire.

_Okay, Lrrch, _Biana called as she walked to get the riding harness. _But we must hunt together or the mortals will see us._

Lrrch shook his head, his thoughts radiating contempt of the humans and their feeble weaponry as Biana looped the harness over his head. She settled the main straps just in front of the sweeping black wings. Swinging herself up onto the neck and settling her body in between the main back spikes, she hissed a command in Parseltounge and smiled exultantly as they flew off through the mountain mists.

_Lrrch flies well! _ Biana complemented the dragon as he executed a series of clipped wing adjustments that left her heart pounding.

Lrrch tossed back a thought that made Biana do a double take. _Big mortal call me Norbert._ Biana thought about probing deeper into this random thought, but she shrugged it off and gave him a command to head west, to the sea.

**

"Where have you been?" Cho Chang asked as Tim settled into his seat at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast.

"Dumbledore wanted to see me," Tim replied, helping himself to some eggs and a glass of pumpkin juice.

Cho stirred her food around with her fork. "Am I allowed to know why?" she asked. Cho never ate much at breakfast—or any other meal, making her almost child-like in her proportions. Most of the Ravenclaws had given up trying to make her eat more than a few bites, accepting that it had something to do with Cedric Diggory that was better left unsaid.

Tim laid down his fork, suddenly not hungry. "I guess. Laura disappeared last night."

There was a clatter as Cho dropped her silverware. "Oh my god," she whispered. "That's awful for you and Harry." Tim nodded, biting his lip. "Well, I've got to go," she added, rising from the table with her bag. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen."

Terry Boot, another Ravenclaw in Tim's year, nudged him and winked. Apparently he hadn't heard anything but the last line. "Go Tim! Well, go talk to her! What're you waiting for?"

Tim punched him playfully. "We're not like that, Terry. We're just friends."

"Of course you are." A few other Ravenclaws snickered.

A crash from the table opposite Ravenclaw distracted them all. Tim looked and saw Harry giving him a panicked look. A red-haired boy had fallen on the ground, his face frozen in a grimace. Tim could see where Ron's hand had fallen into view. The fingers were all contracted into the palm; blood flowed freely from his palms where the fingernails had pierced his skin. Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick were rushing over, wands out. Tim ran over to Harry.

"What happened?" he asked as McGonnagal levitated the boy up to the hospital wing. Tim closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to see the agonized features of the boy.

"I don't know!" Harry pointed to the goblet of water that spilled onto the floor from the table, staining the linen dark gray. "Ron was drinking that, and he just fell over suddenly." Hermione, the pretty brown-haired girl Harry hung out with, was in tears. She flung herself at Harry, who looked quite as shocked by this as by Ron's sudden illness. 

Tim cleared his throat awkwardly. "I hope he gets better soon," he said, unsure of what you should say to someone in a situation like this.

"DON'T DRINK THE WATER!" The magnified voice echoed to the magical ceiling. "DON'T TOUCH IT, DON'T DRINK IT, AND DON'T GET NEAR IT." Professor Sprout stood up on a chair by the teacher's podium. She looked ferocious; quite a shocking change for the mild Herbology professor. "Everyone is to go up into the Hufflepuff or Gryffindor towers this instant." A few queries rose from the crowd; moans of derision from the Slytherins. "Ravenclaws, go with the Hufflepuffs, Slytherins, go with the Gryffindors."

"What?" drawled someone from slightly behind Tim. "I'd rather not." It was Draco Malfoy.

"Just do it," Tim snapped at him.

"Why should I listen to you?" Draco asked derisively.

They were being left behind as the other students drifted upstairs. Tim grabbed his sleeve and pulled. "Try to be cleverer than you are, Malfoy, and go with the Gryffindors."

Draco shook his hand off. "Don't touch me. Ravenclaws are all brains, no bravery. You're just going to run and hide, aren't you?"

"You're being stupid." Tim made to leave, but the comments about bravery were getting to him, even if they were coming from Draco Malfoy. "I'm going. Goodbye."

He ran upstairs, not to the Hufflepuff common room, but to the Gryffindor. "Kelpies," he muttered, and the Fat Lady swung open. Tim scrambled through the portrait hole to be met by no less than seven wands pointed at his nose. "God," he moaned to himself. Trying to deal with a bunch of paranoid third years was far more than he wanted while dangling halfway out of a hole in the wall.

"Who're you?" one of them asked, prodding him with his wand. "State your name and house."

Tim sighed. "I'm Tim Potter, Ravenclaw."

"You're supposed to be in Hufflepuff," another added. "How do we know you're not a spy?"

"Because he's my brother," Harry said, offering a hand to Tim to pull him the rest of the way through the portrait hole. "Good job, though," he said to the disgruntled third years. "Close the portrait hole and keep watch."

Tim walked down to the seats by the fire, where Harry and his friends usually sat. Harry slumped into a squashy round armchair. "This is great," he moaned. "We practically have a war going on in here between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors."

"Is Malfoy in here?" Tim asked. "He was being an ass downstairs."

"No," Hermione said, sitting on the armrest of Harry's chair. "A few other Slytherins aren't here either." Her eyes were still very red and puffy.

There was a thunk as someone was bodily hurled into the common room. Tim jumped around in his seat so that he could see. It was one of the third years, who was now wobbling cross-eyed around in circles. On cue, Draco Malfoy pulled himself further into the common room, looking evil and highly annoyed. Seeing Harry and Tim sitting by the fire, he pointedly looked the other direction and stalked to the back of the common room.

"Well then," Hermione said, rolling her eyes expressively, "Moving on. How long do you think we'll be in here?"

"Not much longer before they send someone to tells us what's going on," Harry said encouragingly.

Tim shrugged moodily. He wanted to know now; he wanted to do something about it. To distract himself, he began running through a list of all the curses he would put on Voldemort had he the opportunity. It was a long list. Tim went alphabetically, starting with the Asphyxiation Jinx. He was all the way to F and the Fallen-And-Can't-Get-Up Hex when there was a stir in the common room, starting from the portrait hole and going outwards like ripples in a pool.


	15. Roses

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 15: Roses**

It was Professor Gahlapault, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He was a short, built, good-humored man, but now his look was grave and he carried a cardboard box. He had been an officer in the army before retiring and going off to see things more dangerous than his fellow man. Even now, for a man of nearly sixty, he was solidly muscled and tanned darkly, his bristling white hair a sharp contrast.

"Hello, students!" he called. "If I could have your attention, please?" He stood on a table, placing his things next to him; Gahlapault jumped back up to place the things in midair then hopped down off his table to get another table for his box.

"What's he doing?" Hermione whispered. 

"Tap dancing?" Harry suggested.

"I don't know," Tim replied.

"Thank you. Please give me your undivided attention for a few minutes." Gahlapault clenched his hands together in front of him. "As for Ron Weasley, the boy taken ill earlier today: he is in bed and Madam Pomfrey is optimistic. Luckily he only had a small sip of water, which, by the way, brings me to another point. You are not to drink any juice, water, tea, or coffee until further notice. We aren't sure how the poison got in, but it is in water and most beverages that contain water.

"Now, for my true purpose of coming here." Professor Gahlapault reached in his box and pulled out a tiny cube. "Can anyone lend me a quill?" Several were flung up at him, and he used one to poke a hole in the top of the box. A sort of projection appeared from the top where the hole was; a three-dimensional image of a very tall human-like creature.

"What is _that_?" someone asked in a hushed voice, and Tim definitely saw their point as the alien form slowly revolved about four feet above Professor Gahlapault's head.

The rugged face split into a crooked grin. "This, students, is what is known as a Dreki. This is the new and very dangerous creature the Aurors will be fighting. It is a cross between a human and a dragon"—a few students laughed—"No, not like _that,_ you sick-minded children. Observe the human-like features." Using his wand, he pointed out the eyes, nose and mouth. "See? Facial features almost like your own. The skin, however, is a tissue closer to scales but slightly more flexible.

"See the feet? Non-retractable claws, like a dragon—the claws on the hands are retractable. This particular Dreki is a male, but notice that the hair is kept long. This male is about two thousand years old; they age very slowly. He is eight feet tall and weights approximately two hundred and fifty pounds. Now, if you were fighting this lad, what would you do? Jordan?"

Lee Jordan snorted. "I'd hit him with a good hex to immobilize those claws."

Professor Gahlapault circled the areas with his wand, leaving a glowing golden trace. "The claws, Jordan? Why do you say this?"

"Well sir, because I'd like to keep my skin on my body," Lee said.

Gahlapault nodded. "Sound logic, but that should not be your first move. What do you not know about this creature? Granger?"

Hermione jumped, for once caught off her guard. "If he was armed I would disarm him, unless he could breathe fire, sir," she said quickly. To Hermione's intense relief, Gahlapault nodded.

"Luckily for you all, nothing we have observed makes it possible that the Dreki can breathe fire, as their bodies do not possess the required gasses, enzymes, or the second stomach. Disarming a Dreki would be wise, especially with the weapons they have been known to carry." Professor Gahlapault pulled something else out of his box; something that looked impossibly long for the small box. Tim frowned and tapped the side of his glasses. Sure enough, there wasn't really a box there, just a big portable hole that led into a particular drawer of the professor's office. So that's how he was doing it.

"This, my students, is a Dreki longbow." With a quick motion, Gahlapault strung the bow. "You there—Weasley, is it? Catch." George caught the bow as it was tossed to him and staggered under the weight. "Now, Weasley, hold that out straight in your left hand. Grab the string in the middle, and pull it back to your ear." George did it, but he had some trouble despite the fact he was a strong and heavily muscled teenager. 

"Is that hard, boy?"

Tim and Harry both twisted in their seats to see a slim girl with silver-gold hair snatching the bow from George Weasley's hand. "What is Lux doing?" Tim asked Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I don't think she gets along with Gryffindors very well."

"She doesn't get along with _anyone _very well. They better take that weapon away from her before she starts a massacre."

Hermione poked him with her elbow. "Lux isn't that bad. And there's no way she could shoot that thing."

For such a small girl that wasn't even as tall as the bow, Lux could draw it all the way back to her ear with very little effort. _So that's why Cho wanted her for Beater,_ Tim thought reflectively.

"Here, Miss Ray. Shoot that." All the students instinctively ducked as Lux pulled back the bow, loaded with the arrow. Harry looked over the back of his chair, eyes wide.

_Zzzzzzzipp—thud_

As one body, the students all looked over the fireplace, where the arrow had neatly thudded into the roaring mouth of a wooden lion carved into the mantle. Harry poked Tim in the ribs. "Who knows? Maybe Lux will sweeten up soon, since nobody's going to bother her anymore." Tim looked at Draco to see his mouth hanging open and nodded in agreement.

"Thank you for that demonstration, Miss Ray. Now, continuing." Using his wand, Professor Gahlapault levitated a wooden pole out of the box, with a murderous-looking curved blade on the end. "This is a scythe, another popular Dreki weapon which I can guarantee none of you will even be able to lift. The blade weights twenty pounds, and the staff is weighted with lead. The whole weapon weights close to two hundred pounds."

A timer rang somewhere in Gahlapault's box, making everyone jump. "Well class," the good-natured Professor said. "I expect everyone to have read pages 396 through 415 of _Mythological Monsters _by tomorrow, when we will be starting self-defense out on the lawn. Anyone who cannot give basic information on these pages will be asked to hold the targets for the archers." There was a scramble for books as Professor Gahlapault made his exit.

**

_BIANA RAZI! GET IN HERE NOW!!_

Biana banked Lrrch inwards and upwards, to the very lair of Lord Voldemort. Her stomach turned nervously. What did he want? Would he kill her? She lifted her chin defiantly. It didn't matter. The humans would find another Dreki like herself—she hoped that Saung or Liisbar would become the next cell guard. They were both Dreki about her age, with a sympathy towards humans that was harder to find in older Dreki. 

Lrrch landed on the shallow ledge, nearly overbalancing and toppling off. Biana swung off of him. _Stay here please. You may need to defend me._ The young Norwegian Ridgeback shuffled his wings proudly.

"_My lord?_" Biana called in Parseltounge, "_You called?_" No answer. Biana walked cautiously farther into the rich living quarters. She recognized several paintings that had belonged to her family line hanging on his walls, as well as some carpets she recognized from other families. "_My Lord?"_

She knocked upon a closed door, and hearing no reply from within, opened the door. Turning on one of the finely made light-globes, she turned back to the room. Biana nearly screamed in fright.

Ju, her white scales dusty-gray with death, lay sprawled on the bed. Blood, the black aged blood of an old wound was dried on her face, in drips from her nose and mouth. Her eyes were halfway open; like round blue stones in her head, dry and without moisture. Biana reached out a shaking hand and gently closed the staring eyes, her stomach trying to reject her lunch.

"So. Ju has died."

Biana wheeled. Lord Voldemort stood there, dressed in black velvet that seemed to absorb the light cast by the glowing sphere next to him. His red eyes were as hard and cold as Ju's dead ones, as he stood there looking at her. "_Sir, I—I was looking for you._"

"You found me—or shall I say I found you?" His eyes never left hers, and it came to Biana's notice that Voldemort was just as tall as she was. How could that be possible? She was nearly eight feet tall. "What are you doing here, Biana?"

"_You called me._"

"I did? Now why would I do a thing like that?" he smiled coldly, crossing the room to sit on the end of the bed. Ju's body swayed towards him. "Oh yes. I remember now. I wanted to speak to you about what job you hold in my service now." Lord Voldemort made a gesture with his hand to encourage her to speak.

"_My lord, I am a cell guard in your dungeons._" What was he doing? One of his hands was resting lightly on Ju's cold chest, caressing her throat as if she lived and they were lovers. As if he felt her gaze, he withdrew his hand.

"Ah, the prisoners. Now how does my kitten fare? And the traitor Severus? Please, tell me everything." His long white hands moved to a red rose that stood in a jar on the table. "Tell me all, Biana."

Biana blinked sharply, throwing off the spell of dizziness his voice had caused. "_They live,_" she said simply.

"What do they know of you, Biana? Are you a stranger to them?" He plucked the rose and stroked it with one long finger. "Or do you grow—fond of them?"

Biana searched for a correct answer, pretending to be staring at Ju's body. "_They are humans, weak-minded and constantly bickering. They annoy each other and me as well._"

Voldemort plucked a petal from the rose, letting it float to the floor. "Weak minded and constantly bickering. Am I a human, Biana Razi?" One of his long-nailed fingers sliced a track down the side of the rose's stem, leaving an oozing green trail. He avoided the thorns expertly as he painstakingly carved curving tracks around the sharp arches of thorns.

She blinked sharply again, feeling the dizziness fly off as she did so. "_You are indeed human, my Lord,_" she replied. "_Though you seem most unlike other humans._" Biana felt an urgent desire to be over with this scene in her life, to still be flying on Lrrch's back over the Arctic Ocean.

"My dear, I am not like other humans." Voldemort's tone of voice changed. It was warm and flattering—and almost sensual. "I am anything but another human."

"_My Lord, I need to return to my dragon,_" Biana said innocently.

"No you don't," he said, rising. "Has anyone every told you how pretty you are?" There it was again—the rising heat in his voice that Biana found so repulsive. Voldemort came closer, causing Biana to back away. "You are beautiful, you know." He stretched out a hand—Biana couldn't back away any farther—and stroked her cheek. "Golden, like a treasure."

"_My Lord, I wish to leave._"

"But you won't," he said softly, taking her face in both hands, running a thumb over one of the scars he himself had inflicted months ago. "Who beat you so?" he asked in a bemused voice. "They should have taken heed to steer clear of your face." He leaned foreword and kissed her.

Biana was disgusted. His lips were cold and dry, and she felt his tongue flicking at her lips, trying to find a way inside. Frantically, she struggled, one hand reaching for a weapon, anything to make this insane human stop what he was doing. Her hand closed on the vase, and unthinkingly she brought it down and around, smashing it into one of his shoulders. Black shards went everywhere as the now-destroyed roses showered around them in flakes of red. Voldemort released her to glance at his shoulder, bleeding with black glass in it.

"Guards!" he said, softly at first, but steadily getting louder, his eyes fixed upon hers. "Guards! GUARDS!"

She didn't waste her breath stammering apologies. Biana ran, out to the ledge where Lrrch was waiting for her. But he wasn't there. Instead there stood a full complement of Dreki Warriors, armed with scythes or long curved swords. Biana halted in her tracks, a growing feeling of despair flowing coolly from her head to her limbs.

"_Biana Razi_?" the leader asked, a bold male with black and bronze coloring. "_I've been assigned to take you into custody_."

**Author's Note: When the Dreki speaks in italics, then that's Parseltounge. Just for future reference.**


	16. A Different Escape

Unplottable Island

Chapter 16: A Different Escape

Tim woke up late the next day, to his utter horror. He had just enough time to pull on his robes back on over his clothing (the ones he'd fallen asleep in) before running around to get his books, mentally reviewing every concept of _Mythological Monsters _that he'd studied the night before.

"Tim? Are you still in here?" It was Hermione Granger, looking much more polished than he and in a better mood. "You'd better get out here—Neville and Dean are already holding targets."

"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" he asked, annoyed.

"Because Harry covered you with that," Hermione said, pointing. A cloak lay crumpled on the ground near Tim's feet, close to the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room.

"What is it?" Tim asked, picking it up. It was as light as a feather in his hands, silky like water between his fingertips. "It's very pretty."

Hermione fidgeted. "Er—don't tell him I told you this, but it was your father's Invisibility Cloak. He would have told you, I'm sure, but I think he wanted to. Come on—we're going to be late!" She grabbed Tim's arm and they climbed out of the portrait hole.

They began the long, though simple to navigate, walk to the grounds outside. "How late were you up studying?" Tim asked Hermione. "You were still awake when I went to sleep."

"Not that long, I just read it a few times and quizzed myself on it. Dreki are fascinating creatures, really." Hermione shuffled through her bag, coming out with a book. "I found that in the library." She opened it to a page she had marked and handed it to Tim. It was a rather fanciful ink-pen drawing of a slim dragon-girl propped against the neck of her dragon, looking out from a high place over a valley.

"It doesn't look real," Tim said, handing her the book back and tucking the Invisibility Cloak into his bag. "It looks like a pretend drawing."

"But it isn't," Hermione said. "It was done a year or two ago. According to the source, the artist actually was a Dreki. The Dreki in question—their name isn't mentioned—gave the picture to a few dragon handlers out in Scandinavia. All they know is that the female in the picture's name is Something-or-another Razi. Their names are so harsh," she said.

"I think that Razi is a pretty name," Tim replied. "And I thought nobody ever sees Dreki."

"They usually are drunk or think that they are drunk if they do."

Tim glanced sideways at the shorter girl beside him. "How much research did you do? It sounds like you raided the library last night." Hermione looked away. "You did, didn't you? He was only going to quiz us on that one book."

She blushed and glared at the floor. "I know. I just wanted to get ahead."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Ahead? Hermione, you are ahead. Way ahead of everyone, even the Ravenclaws." He shoved her gently. "You don't need to work as hard as you do. Why?"

"Why what?" Hermione said crossly.

"Why do you run yourself dry working so hard? Let up sometimes."

"I work hard because I want to do well," she snapped. "And it's only Harry and Ron who want to hang out with me anyway, and they're usually off somewhere together. Or Harry's off mooning over—never mind. Anyway, there isn't anything else to do."

"Mooning over who?" Tim asked curiously.

"Look! Neville looks terrified—oh no! I wish that they wouldn't make him do this!" Hermione's hands flew to her mouth, fingernails biting into her face. 

Neville indeed looked like he'd rather be covered in warts than out holding a target for someone to shoot at—Tim was relieved to see it was Lux, the one person who could actually aim. Neville was in more danger of being shot by Parvati Patil, who was handling the bow as if it were deadly python and complaining loudly of how she'd just done her nails the night before.

Hermione started forward then shrank back. "Oh god. Oh my god. What on earth are they doing?" she quavered, pointing at another group a little further out on the grounds.

Tim followed her pointed finger. Another group of mostly boys stood out in the middle of the field holding various weapons—mostly swords, but a few sturdier figures held what looked like Dreki scythes. "Looks like sword practice to me," he said casually.

"But they'll be hurt!" she squeaked.

"Oh, don't stress it. Harry can take care of himself."

"What?" Hermione squealed.

As it turned out, Tim was told to go out to the sword practice field. Harry was out there, as were several other Gryffindors. The other houses were equally represented, however. From Hufflepuff came Justin Flinch-Fletchly and another blond boy who looked slightly related. Draco Malfoy stood scowling, away from everyone else. The only two girls, one Gryffindor, one from Slytherin, leaned on their blades with ease. Several Ravenclaws greeted Tim with whacks on the back or a teasing, "Cho missed you!"

He was given a blunt sword and told to hold it out in front of him while Professor Gahlapault came around and corrected everyone's stance. That was how most of the morning went. It was boring and hard work holding out a heavy sword at arms length in front of him. Tim was extremely glad to be ambidextrous in those long hours—he could switch arms when one arm got tired, the other boys couldn't. Whenever someone lost the stance Gahlapault had given him, he (or she) had to do ten push-ups. Tim felt particularly sorry for those assigned to scythes, which required both hands.

After poses they moved to sweeps from side to side—slowly. One of the boys collapsed and was sent inside for water and a little rest. Madam Pomfrey had some severe words with Professor Gahlapault, and the penalty decreased from ten push-ups to five. By now Tim's skin was raw with sunburn and muscles he didn't know he had were screaming in pain. Everyone was very relived when Gahlapault announced a water break.

"Is he trying to kill us before we get the chance to get anyone with this stuff?" Harry panted, pouring half his goblet of water over his head and the other half down his throat.

Tim downed his ration of water, wiping sweat off his stinging forehead. "I'm just glad they found some water that was okay to drink. Can you imagine milk like this?" Everyone within hearing shuddered.

"Hey, Tim!" Cho called. "How's swordplay coming?" she jokingly ran him through with an imaginary sword.

"You don't want to know," Tim said, drying his face on his shirtsleeve. "How's archery?"

"Fun. We're popping balloons with arrows now, and Lux is shooting at targets thirty meters farther away than the rest of us. Neville practically is suffering a nervous breakdown. Professor Flitwick says that Lux will be starting moving targets any day now." 

"Sounds fun," Harry said wistfully. "This is hard work."

Tim flexed his arm reflectively. "Would I look good with hulking great arms?" he asked. "Because at this rate I'm going to have arms like Gahlapault's soon." He growled and did a wrestler's pose.

Cho laughed, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. "You'd look stupid. A studious soul like you with big arms…" she broke off to giggle. "Well, bye Tim. See you, Harry." She went off to go see how Lux fared.

Harry watched her go. "Do you two always flirt like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" Tim asked. "Me and Cho are just real good friends."

" 'Cho, how would I look with hulking great arms'? Do you like her or something?" Harry asked angrily.

Tim looked at him, a little puzzled. "Harry, what's your problem? You're like that with Hermione all the time and I'm not getting worked up about it."

"It's too hot to get worked up," Harry said, avoiding the question. "I'm going back."

Tim watched his brother stalk away, pick up his sword, and practice several sideswipes at random tufts of grass. _Just when you think you know someone, they go weird on you,_ he thought, and then trotted out to the practice green.

For the rest of her life, Biana didn't remember exactly what had caused that guard to trip.

As they passed a hallway, the company of guards detailed to take her stopped. One of the Dreki in front had tripped; falling sprawled out on the floor. Immediately Biana was forgotten as the others leaned down to assist their captain to her feet.

Biana bolted. She was a good halfway down the corridor before she heard her pursuers. Frantically she pressed on, her lungs heaving in the deep breaths of someone who knew how to run well. Maybe if she had concentrated a little more on where she went and not how she ran what had happened next might have been avoidable.

She ran out onto a shallow ledge, narrow as well. There was enough space for Biana to stand, low to the ground and looking around, panicking. There was no way out, no way out, just the hundred-foot drop to the ocean below. The mindless fear of a trapped animal overcame the dragon-girl. She felt her heart rate increase as the first of her pursuers spilled out onto the ledge.

"Biana, honey," the first said. "Come with us. This is just a routine security check, nothing to get scared about. Come here, with us. You'll be safe."

Biana shook her head, backing slowly away. She tottered on the edge of the outcrop, hearing the sea rush so many feet before. What would they do to her when she had nowhere else to run to? Would they torture her like the mortal Laura? Would they allow Voldemort to get at her again? There's no way she could get out, no way she could avoid the twisted human.

_There's always another way out. Go the way they don't expect_. Biana felt wild; not herself at all. "If you want me, come and catch me," she snarled at the advancing guard, and flung herself off the cliff. 

She fell and fell, fell for a mile. The air whistled past her ears, and Biana instinctively tucked herself into a ball, praying that her dramatic exit would not end in her untimely demise on any rocks that might be below. The shock of the coldest water in the universe brought her back to reality. Her muscles tensed, and she plummeted through the depths, her feet meeting no rocks. Biana thrust herself to the surface frantically, her lungs squashed of any remaining air by the tremendous water pressure. She broke the surface with a gasp; sucking in lungfulls of good, clean air. 

_Zzzzzzzzzzztt! Zzzzzzzzzzzt! Zzzzzzzzzzztt!_

Arrows zipped into the water around her. Biana didn't look back. A new sense of freedom filled her muscles, and she swam away with long strokes, away from her home, and away from Voldemort. That was all she cared about.

Laura and Snape, down in their cell, had other worries.

"She should have been back by now! It's been hours!" Laura ranted, pacing the cell impatiently. After only three whole days in Voldemort's cells, there was already a visible difference in her. She had lost a few pounds, but the silver streak in her hair seemed to grow wider by the minute. Her black robes flapped on her thin arms like a raven's wings as she took two steps, pivoted, and then went two steps the other way.

"Sometimes I think we should have left you tied to the cell bars."

"Sometimes I think it's you who should be tied to the cell bars, not me!"

Snape snorted. "Oh yes? And where were you for fifteen years, locked up in St. Mungos because of the _shattering _effect of the death of your brother?"

Laura flushed. "No!" she shouted. "And it's cruel of you to say so, you stupid Death Eater!" She kicked the wall as hard as she could, sending a cloud of loose mortar into the air. "Argh! I hate waiting for things to happen!"

"Then where were you?" Snape asked. His face didn't show it, but the comment about his previous servitude to Voldemort stung. "While I was using my time constructively?"

"Constructively? What were you doing, collecting scalps?"

"I was spying on Voldemort, if you insist upon knowing, while _you _ran and hid somewhere to let James take the heat instead of _you_!"

"That is not true!" Laura shrieked.

"Then what is?" Snape asked. "I don't really expect you to actually tell me, however."

"I don't see why I should tell you!" Laura said defiantly. "You're just like you were in school, a self-serving, snotty boy who cared for no one but himself!" She seated herself as far away from him as possible, facing the wall.

"That isn't true," he replied. "I spent much of the weeks before you're brother's death trying to prevent your family from being found. Even though James and I didn't get along, I still stuck my neck out for him—and for you, I might have you know. And how have you changed from in school? You were just a popular airhead obsessed with an unattainable boy and yourself."

Laura spun around to face him, her blue eyes red-rimmed. "Sirius and I loved each other. And we still do." She looked as the floor and rubbed her sleeve against her face, leaving a long smudge. "I'm sorry about what I said. I'm not sure if it's true or not, but I shouldn't have said it."

"Fine. I accept your apology. If I have to live within five feet of you then we might as well get along." Snape gave her a look, and then tossed her one of the slices of bread Biana had brought them. "Eat something."

She pushed it away. "I'm not hungry." Laura looked up and out the window.

"Liar. I'll eat it if you want. I'm hungry." Snape watched her for a while, and then tore the slice in half. "I'll save you some."

She didn't answer for a long time, but when she looked back at him, Snape could see that she'd been crying. "How long will we be in here?" Laura whispered. "How long?"

He didn't answer. There wasn't one.


	17. A Lesson in War

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 17: A Lesson in War**

Hagrid stalked down the beach, returning from yet another conversation with a tribe of centaurs. None of them were particularly helpful, nor were they any hindrance. They all said the same thing: "Virgo shines brightly in this time of danger, but so does the Serpent."

_Never,_ Hagrid thought to himself. _Never ever try to get a straight answer from a centaur._ "Ruddy star gazers," he muttered, wishing for a good mug of ale. "N'ere interested in anything closer than the moon." As if the moon heard him, it poked its full face out, shining a clear light across the ocean. It was odd for a tribe of centaurs to live on an island, but they had formed a close kinship with a nearby tribe of merpeople. These merpeople were Hagrid's next destination.

The breakers smashed noisily against the rocks, throwing bits of driftwood and weed high into the air. Hagrid watched them warily, wondering if one would choose to come his way. None did, and the giant man moved on; the moon slowly retreated behind its cloud cover.

Then the unmistakable sound of retching stopped him dead in his tracks. Hagrid spun.

A human shape lay face down halfway in the waves; body heaving as he or she coughed up what seemed an impossible amount of water. Every so often they would painfully drag their body a little farther out of the water, then begin retching again.

"Hey!" he called. "You okay?" No reply. Hagrid walked over and turned him or her over, sitting them up. "Hey there. You okay?"

The girl coughed, spewing more water down her front. Hagrid patted her on the back as her entire skinny frame shook with the effort to rid her system of the sea.

Hooves sounded on the sand, and a young female centaur galloped over. "Ruebus Hagrid? Who is this?"

"Not sure, ma'am, but it would be a good idea to get 'er somewhere else."

The girl moaned and opened large eyes, blinking a few times to rid them of the encrusting salt. She tried to sit up, but the centaur pushed her back down. "My name is Delphi," she said softly. "Who are you?" The girl didn't say anything, her face shadowed by the absence of the moon. She ran hands over her long masses of black hair, checking herself for injuries. "Who are you?" She wheezed, but still remained silent.

"Maybe she doesn't speak English," Delphi remarked to Hagrid. "Know any foreign languages?" To the girl she asked something in a whickering language Hagrid didn't know.

"Nope," Hagrid replied. "What was that?" Her reply was forgotten as the moon came out from behind the clouds.

The girl raised a hand to cover her eyes, their slit pupils narrowing in protest against the white light. Hagrid's jaw dropped. The 'girl' had golden-pebbled skin like many beads fused together, claws on her hands, and slit pupiled eyes!

Delphi muttered centaur curses under her breath. "Well, well," she said softly. "What have we here?" She looked up at Hagrid. "I know what this thing is. It's a Dreki, one of those Death-Eater replacements."

The lizard-girl shook her head, hissing something in her own tongue. In desperation, she scratched a message in the wet sand.

I'M AGAINST VOLDEMORT. MY NAME IS BIANA.

"Biana, eh?" Delphi remarked. "And how do we know you aren't just a spy, sent to wipe out more centaurs?"

She wheezed in something that might have been laughter, and then wrote, A SPY WOULD HAVE BETTER TRANSPORTATION.

Delphi nodded. "Ruebus Hagrid? I daren't take her to my tribe—take her with you. Keep her locked up until you find a translator. Don't trust her." Delphi trotted away, her short golden hair luminous in the moonlight. "Don't turn your back on her. Ever," she tossed backwards at Hagrid.

Biana rolled her eyes as Hagrid insisted upon tying her arms in front of her and followed him as he retraced his path, heading back to Hogwarts.

**

Tim awoke the next day a mass of bruises, aches, and a long bolt of pain in his back from a pulled deltoid. He had a splitting headache and was just as relieved as everyone else when Professor Gahlapault announced at breakfast that today would be devoted entirely to one big Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

It was fascinating. The old Professor was in his element: he paced before the all of the seated students like a general before his troops, hands clasped behind his back as he walked, occasionally breaking loose into a frenzy of waving arms and shouted words, sometime crouching low to emphasize something else. And his subjects! Past magical battles fought, tactics, weaponry, spells and more!

He spent a particularly long time on two battles: the Battle of the Bulge, where magical tactics had still been overrun by brute force, and the Battle of the Ruin or Battle of Division, which had happened a thousand years earlier on Hogwarts grounds.

"See, it went like this," Gahlapault began in his thunderous bellow. "You have one side, who have a half-finished castle—good, but not great—four extremely talented fully trained wizards and witches—okay—and maybe fifteen-odd magic students between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five. On the other side, nearly ten villages united, that's maybe twelve hundred men and boys, with maybe fifty mercenary fighters. Can someone please define mercenary for me?"

Hermione's hand was, as usual, the first one in the air. "A hired man who fights for profit."

"Very good. Take five points. And they're usually pretty good, because you can't collect your pay if you are dead. Which side has the advantage? Mr. Malfoy?" Draco Malfoy had been participating more than usual in this lesson. Though Harry whispered to Tim, this could be because Draco was eager to prove that wizards could always best Muggles. This had not been true at the Battle of the Bulge, and Draco had stewed quietly through that detailed lesson. 

"The united mercenaries and villagers," Draco replied. "They have the advantages of numbers and battle experience."

"Wow," Hermione whispered. "I was expecting him to go for wizards, no matter how bad the odds would be." Tim nodded.

"Excellent. Take five points. Now, lets get in a little deeper on both sides. Wizards first.

"Now, who are our wizards? Our founding Mothers and Fathers, of course. We've got Godric Gryffindor, who was the most admired swordsman of his time, and really good at Transfigurations. He used to turn his enemies into pigs and give them out as gifts to his family and friends." A few students giggled as Professor McGonagall flushed: everyone had seen her Transfigure her desk into a pig at least once. Gahlapault smirked, then continued. "We have Helga Hufflepuff, who was really good at defensive spells and a menace with a bow and arrow, and Rowena Ravenclaw, who was an overall awesome magical power in herself and could wield an axe like nothing else—it's legend that she was from Atlantis. Lastly but most certainly not least, we have Salazar Slytherin." Cheers from the Slytherin table. Harry snorted. "Salazar was one of the best military strategists that ever lived." More cheers.

"On the other side, we have religion-crazed armed peasants and mercenaries." Laughter from all sides. "Now, this paints a pretty picture: the handsome and brave few witches and wizards who nobly defended their castle against crazed peasants." Professor Gahlapault stood arms and legs askew, looking over the crowd. "You like that version of the story, don't you, my young witches and wizards?"

There was a general roar of agreement from all sides. A few teachers applauded as well.

"Well, that's biased. A very one-dimensional opinion. Let's give your thoughts a new dimension." Gahlapault began to pace again, like a bear. "Oh no!" he cried in a falsetto voice. "What are those people doing in our wheat fields? Don't they realize that this grain is all that keeps us alive?" He switched to a deeper voice. "I don't know, but I'm going to ask them about it!" He paced over out of sight, and then came running back in. "They're building a castle!" "In our wheat field?" "Yes! They've trampled nearly five acres already!" "What're we going to do?" he alternated voices, switching facial expressions. It was quite funny, though nobody laughed.

"You see? This was in no way the land of Hogwarts; this was some farmer's wheat field. Not ours, theirs. And we stole it, giving them every right to royally boot us off their land. They tried, but wizards have this nasty curse that give you boils"—Harry shot Goyle a sidelong glance—"and they chased them away. Let's review the options: let them stay on the land, and lose profit and food, chase them away, or kill them all and use their bodies as fertilizer. Though they may not have chosen the peaceful route, they went about it properly. They had a leader, Grogan Fontein, the patriarch of the village that Hogwarts was founded on. You now know that village as Hogsmeade. They hired at fifty mercenaries."

Draco Malfoy raised his hand. "Why didn't they hire more mercenaries? If they were mostly killed trying to take Hogwarts, then the villagers wouldn't have to pay."

Professor Gahlapault stopped and looked at Draco. "Ten points to Slytherin. That is very well seen, thought very shrewd."

As the Professor moved on, holding up detailed maps covered in symbols that reminded Tim of Cho's Quidditch charts, Tim stole glances at Draco Malfoy. The blonde boy was watching everything, completely fascinated by the charts. His cold mask was melting off, revealing a person that reminded him a lot of someone Tim knew. He struggled to put his mental finger on it, and then gave up to study the strategy. 


	18. Speaking English

Unplottable Island  
  
Chapter 18: Speaking English  
  
Biana woke up without any recollection of going to sleep. She was lying on her back, and it was very dark. Where was she? What was going on? Her body hurt, a dull, bruising ache that intensified along her arms and upper back, and she couldn't fathom how that had happened.  
  
It hurt where her body had hit the water. Biana sat up suddenly, her pain forgotten. The man. The man who was taller than Boaz by half a meter. Where had he taken her? Where was she?  
  
She stood up, cracking her head on the low ceiling. Her eyes could see nothing in the pitch black; she groped her way along the wall, nearly panicking when it seemed not to end. Was she in a maze of some sort? That would be just the sort of thing Voldemort would do to punish her, put her in a pitch-black maze. Biana sighed in relief when her hands met a corner, then another. In five minutes, she had assessed the size of the room. It was large, about ten meters long and five wide. In the center of one wall there was a door. It was locked, and though she threw her weight into it, she couldn't budge it. The hinges were on the other side of the door. Biana swore creatively.  
  
Tentatively she moved into the center of the room. Her thighs hit a table, and she ran her hands over it. Biana recognized a pot of some sort, along with small glass jars full of a heavy liquid; honey, perhaps? She knew better than to try and drink it: listening to Snape's babble for months had taught her something about unknown liquid.  
  
A noise in the dark! Biana whirled, trying to find where it came from. No sign of any light, nor was there any other noise. Biana began to pace the length of one wall, up and down, trying to keep herself reasonable. She knew that if her mind didn't see anything, it would start making up things for her to 'see' and 'hear'. Panic was rapidly setting in.  
  
"Let me out," she whispered. "Please, please."  
  
No answer. She was going to go nuts before she even found out where the hell she was. Though sleep was impossible, Biana lay down on one of the tables, carefully clearing it of all burdens before stretching out. Her feet hung off the edge; she pulled them in. Lying in a fetal position, she whispered to herself.  
  
"My name is Biana Razi. I am one thousand six hundred and forty-five years old. I am seven feet eight inches tall." She sat up. "This is not comforting. I would give a finger to have a light, any light in here. I would give my whole hand for someone else to talk to."  
  
A sound! A sound, in the dark! Her joy at knowing she was not alone was quickly replaced by her fear of the unknown. "Who is there?"  
  
No answer. Biana wanted to scream, but she mastered the urge. Very well then. She would make her presence known to those who refused to acknowledge her.  
  
It took only a sweep of her hand to knock the row of glass bottles to the floor. She heard the loud explosion as the vials burst on the stone floor, releasing their contents onto the floor. It was satisfying. There were more bottles on every table, and every one was smashed. Biana only relented when she stepped on the shards. She hopped around, finding a table and sucking on the injured pad of her foot. "Let me out!" she cried. The soft hissing echoes of her voice faded fast.  
  
Biana rested her head in her hands, feeling the heat of her wrath fade away. It smelled foul in the room now, which didn't ease her disposition. It was useless. Who ever had her probably couldn't understand Parseltounge anyway. "This is hopeless," she moaned aloud. In a place of no light and few sounds, her voice seemed loud and over-enunciated—the hisses sounded in her ears like a foreign language.  
  
But was that the only thing Parseltounge was? Another foreign language? Then English, or Manspeak (as Boaz not so fondly referred to it as)…wasn't that just another foreign language? Creatures with forked tongues can speak no mortal languages…but if Voldemort, whose tongue was most definently not forked—she shuddered at the memory—could speak Parseltounge—why couldn't Biana, a creature with a forked tongue, speak English? It was worth a shot.  
  
At first, her noises were only variations on a hiss. She tried to remember how Snape had spoken. How had he made that sound? She tried humming with her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth.  
  
"Nnnnnnya," she intoned. Elated, Biana tried again, this time for the whole word. "Nnnnyo. Nnn—O. N—o. No." She clapped her hands, as delighted as a mere child. She thought hard. What would she most like to say in English?  
  
"Leeetttthhm—meh geeeeeew." Now that was pathetic, she lectured herself. Try again. "Le—T me geew. Let me go."  
  
The student listening quietly at the door nearly gave away his presence with a gasp. English? The creature spoke English? This changed everything. He ran upstairs to tell Dumbledore. She heard him go.  
  
"No!! Let me go!" Biana cried. "Let me go!" The harsh echo of English was the only thing left in the dark.  
  
Dumbledore looked up in interest as Harry Potter entered his office. "Hello, Mr. Potter. How are you?"  
  
"Dumbledore, sir, I was on my way to visit my brother," he paused, wondering if Dumbledore would object to this. The old man said nothing, but nodded for him to continue. "I heard a voice."  
  
"What sort of voice?" Dumbledore asked, the mild arch of his silver eyebrows betraying only interest.  
  
"Female, sir. But—it was in Parseltounge. Well—the last time I heard voices it was important. So I went to see where it was coming from." Harry gulped, nervous. "It was coming from the…"  
  
"Potions classroom," Dumbledore finished, dipping his quill into a bottle of green ink.  
  
Harry stared back at the Headmaster, stunned. "But—how?"  
  
"There is a Dreki in there. Hagrid found her while visiting centaur tribes," Dumbledore answered, signing a paper and smiling at Harry. "We know that her name is Biana Razi, and she says she's not working for Voldemort." He placed the quill in its holder, folded the signed parchment, and tucked into a drawer on his desk. "Unfortunately, our communication with her is currently limited due to a language barrier. She speaks only Parsel—"  
  
"Actually, she's speaking English—a little bit, anyway…" he trailed off, realizing he had interrupted Albus Dumbledore. "Sorry, sir."  
  
"Oh, it's quite all right. This changes a lot of things, but I would be quite honored if you would come with me when I go to talk things over with her. She can't possibly be fluent yet, can she?"  
  
"No," Harry replied. "When I left, she'd gotten to 'no' and 'let me out'."  
  
Dumbledore stood up, stretched a crick in his neck, and pulled a cloak around his neck. "Well then. We should go see how much she's improved."  
  
"Now, sir?"  
  
"Better now than when she blows up Hogwarts with the ingredients to those potions that Professor Snape keeps in there." Dumbledore smiled. "Please keep your wand ready."  
  
Biana nearly fell off the table in shock when she heard the voices approaching the door. She'd been practicing her sounds, particularly the vowels: "Ay, ee, aye, oh, you," and then, unmistakably, she had heard voices. She still heard them. They were coming closer.  
  
"'Oo's there?" she slurred the words in her haste to get them out. "WH-o is there?"  
  
There was a knock on the door. "Biana Razi?" Biana didn't reply. "We are here to talk to you. We won't hurt you, but we are going to turn on some lights." It was a voice that reminded her a little of Snape's, but older and deeper-pitched—wiser, too.  
  
The brilliance of the single beam of light that pierced her sensitive pupils nearly made her gasp in pain. Biana's eyes watered, sending streams of water down her face. Throwing up her hand to block the most brilliant of the beam, she wiped her face on her sleeve. "Who's there?" she asked. Pleased that her voice was nearly without any accent at all, she ventured further: "I sthwear I don't work for Volthdemor—Voldemort," she corrected herself.  
  
"My name is Albus Dumbledore," said the wise old voice. It came from somewhere near the center of the brilliant light. "One of my students is with me, a boy named Harry Potter."  
  
"Hello, Albusth—Albuz Dumbledore."  
  
Her eyes were adjusting to the lights now. As the bright streaks faded from her vision, she saw the old man move forward cautiously. He was tall, about six feet, with very long gray hair that added to his impressive height. Albus Dumbledore was not bent with age, but he wore it almost like a cloak. He was old, but wise and still very cunning. The boy remained behind. He was tall, but skinny, with a shock of black hair and green eyes.  
  
"Are you Laura's son?" she blurted, forgetting to speak English. "I apologithe. I forgot."  
  
"No, I'm not—and it's quite alright," the boy—his name was Harry. She must remember that. "I—I can understand Parseltounge. You're English is very good."  
  
"Thank you." She wished they would stand closer together. Biana was having a hard time keeping tabs on both of them at once. "You withed to talk to me?"  
  
"Yes, about many things, before anyone else monopolizes your attention. I know for a fact that Mr. Newt Scamander would gladly cut off his left hand to speak to you for five minutes." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled, but his hand remained near a pocket in his robes.  
  
"He won't, will he?" she protested. "There are many Dreki he could speak to for a lesther cost!"  
  
"It's a figure of speech. And if you'll forgive me my insult to your race, we haven't been on the best terms over the past millennium." He bowed slightly from the waist. "Now, to business. What do you know about the man named Lord Voldemort?" Something about the blue eyes changed, becoming harder than steel. "If wish, you may speak to Harry in Parseltounge, and he will translate for me."  
  
"Thatth okay," she assured him. "I believe I could usthe some practice." Biana began her tale, starting with the day Voldemort had come to the mountain home of the Dreki. She told Dumbledore of the false promises he had made, the Dreki he had killed six weeks (was it truly only that long ago?) earlier, his capture of Snape and the woman Laura.  
  
"You were their warden?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"One who watches over the prisoners?"  
  
"Yeth." Biana shook her head. "You'd think with how Partheltongue is thpoken, it would be simple for me to thay the letter eth," she added ruefully.  
  
"Apart from your lisp, your English is flawless," Dumbledore reassured her. "Snape and Laura. Are they alive and well?"  
  
"Alive, maybe," Biana replied. "I left Voldemorth dwelling plathe ath quickly as possible." Her jaw was beginning to ach from the many constrictions and tongue variations of the English language. Would it insult Dumbledore if she asked to speak Parseltounge? He said it wouldn't, but she wasn't sure. She definitely didn't want to be rude. "I know where they are kept."  
  
"Are they fed? Do they get any water?" Harry blurted. Dumbledore said nothing, but looked a little more grave than usual. Biana blinked in surprise.  
  
"Voldemorth would never feed hith prithoner." She studied the table. "I fed them what I could. Dreki food doeth not agree with the tathes of humankind."  
  
They continued the questions. Once Dumbledore had finished, he allowed Biana to ask some questions of her own. She was in Hogwarts castle, in Scotland. She'd floated nearly five hundred miles in the space of two days. She was not a prisoner, but some humans would be more than eager to ram her with a killing curse if they got the chance. She would be introduced to some other students the next day (she was tickled to know that they'd been learning about her kind in lessons). Today Dumbledore would be very pleased if she'd allow herself to be moved to more comfortable accommodations and meet some of the teachers.  
  
Biana was pleased, but still slightly apprehensive. Voldemort was her only experience with any mortal human over the age of forty. Did Dumbledore hold similar purposes for his Dreki prisoner?  
  
"Biana? Ms. Razi," said an insistent voice from outside her thoughts. Biana blinked, focusing on the thin face and green eyes of Harry Potter.  
  
"Yez?" Biana replied. She found that if she made her s's a little hard, then they rolled out better.  
  
"Dumbledore wanted me to give you these." He handed her a folded packet of fabric that most promisingly resembled a dress. "He's just left to talk to Professor Gahlapault."  
  
"Thank you," Biana said. Her jaw muscles were cracking audibly.  
  
"You're welcome," Harry replied. It was strange to see the same hissing noises that Voldemort made coming out of this—well, he wasn't a boy, but not quite a man—teenager? Was that the word? "Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Go ahead. I'll see if I know the answer."  
  
"Is Laura really okay? She's not—insane, is she?"  
  
Biana closed her eyes, bringing to light her memory of Laura as she'd last seen her. "She's completely sane, and angry as hell at Snape."  
  
"What did he do?" Harry asked, breaking into English. "I'm sorry, it's just that Parseltounge hurts my jaw a bit."  
  
She tried to restrain herself, but she began to laugh, hard. "Englizth hurtz too!" she choked out between giggles. "Sorry. Snape and Laura are sharing a cell. They fight with words all the time. It's amusing." She held up the dress and sighed. It would be short on her—no surprise, reflecting on the size of its inhabitants. She followed Harry as he left, hoping that her room had a high ceiling so she could stand up straight.  
  
They were about halfway down the stone corridor when Biana felt the prick of cold steel at the base of her neck.  
  
"Well, well," said a cold male voice from just behind her. "Fancy seeing one of you with a Potter." 


	19. Back to Godric's Hollow

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 19: Back at Godric's Hollow**

**By Raquel**

Laura woke up slowly, her mind foggy and blurred. Her body ached, and she wasn't so sure where she was. She was sitting, and she was warm as she had not been in days. A soft golden light caressed her face, and a gentle breeze played on her exposed skin.

She opened her eyes, and her jaw dropped.

Instead of her cell, she was sitting in the middle of a playground. Laura looked around, blinking furiously. There was a slide, a tire swing, and monkey bars—even a fireman's pole so that you could descend from the slide's platform another way. She looked down at herself and wished she hadn't—Laura was wearing a pink baby doll dress, white patent leather Mary Janes, and tiny socks with ruffles on them. Her feet dangled above the ground from the seat of the swing she was sitting on. She grabbed at her head to discover her hair in pigtails at the top of her head. Laura held her breath and jumped off the swing, giving a relieved sigh when her feet connected with the ground. Tentatively she walked through the playground. Everything was so big! Was she smaller?

Her answer arrived in the form of a small boy. He was asleep in the tire swing, wearing jeans with holes in the knees, a red shirt, and suspenders—his feet were bare. His dark hair looked as through he had cut it himself with pinking scissors in the black of night, and his face was pale and shy looking.

"Snape?" she asked, and jumped. The voice that came out of her mouth seemed too high and thin to be hers. "Is that you?"

The boy opened his eyes. "Potter?" He began to laugh and stiffly climbed down from the tire swing. "You should see yourself."

"You don't have much to speak for, Suspender Boy," she replied. "How do we get out of here?"

"I don't know." Snape looked around. "This is really weird."

"You're telling me. Tell me, do you know if Voldemort smokes? Drinks? Shoots drugs?" Hesitantly she placed her hand on the support beams to the monkey bars. "Because you'd have to be pretty sick to think of something like this."

The little boy looked up at her from studying the baby fat above his elbows. "I have no idea. I only drink when under stress."

"If I walked out of here now, I would be a steady drinker," Laura confided. "This is…"

The dirt shook beneath her feet, sending her bottom-first onto the ground. "Hullo there!" A large hand picked her up by the back of her dress. Laura kicked her feet in vain, twisting to try to and see her captor. It wasn't Voldemort's voice. The hand was firm and hard on her back, lifting her up the ladder to the slide. 

To her great surprise, the boy-Snape was already at the top of the ladder. "Snape!" she whispered. "Do something!"

The boy raised his dark eyebrows and raised one shoulder. "What do you want me to do?"

"Anything!" she hissed. The hand placed Laura down by the slide, and she whirled to see her captor.

It was James Potter.

~

Biana was standing in the middle of a corridor with the cold prick of steel on her throat. She didn't move, but looked hard to see who it might be. Could it be Dumbledore? No—she didn't think he would do such a thing. Slightly beneath her shoulder level she saw movement. 

"Malfoy, what're you doing?" Harry was asking.

"Stopping something unlawful," the voice replied. "What'll Dumbledore say when he finds out his pet Harry smuggled a dangerous creature into Hogwarts itself?"

"I'm not smuggling. Dumbledore knows she's here."

"What about the school governors? I bet they don't know that you've got a vicious man-eating creature here." The boy was pressing the blade harder and harder into her windpipe. Biana had to do something about it, because one more push and he would break the skin. Not to mention the fact that she couldn't breathe.

She caught the hand holding the knife, feeling him recoil from her scaly hands. "I am not particularly viciouth, nor do I eat humanth," she said coolly, turning herself to face him. He was about as old as Harry (how old, she couldn't guess—mortals did not age as she did), with a pale, sharp face and cold gray eyes. He was holding a short, poorly made sword in his left hand.

Harry smirked. "You could always ask her yourself, Malfoy." Mockingly he bowed. "Draco Malfoy, may I introduce Biana Razi? Biana, Malfoy."

"Itz a pleazure," Biana said. The other boy looked more annoyed than terrified. 

"What're you doing here?" Draco Malfoy blurted.

"I'm here to—" Biana paused. She was here because she'd been brought here. Not the best of reasons. She stuttered. "I'm here."

"Really," remarked Draco, turning to Harry. "Okay Potter, spill it."

"She's here to give us some combat lessons," Harry jumped in. "And to teach us the finer use of Dreki weapons." Draco raised his pale eyebrows. He reminded Biana of Ju. She shivered convulsively. 

"Don't think I won't tell the governors about this," he warned as he stalked away.

Harry sighed, and he and Biana continued down the mercifully empty hallway.

Biana entered the room Harry led her to, choking back a comment of disbelief. The room was so—full. Dreki in general tended to prefer open, unobstructed space. Her old bedroom had contained a hammock for sleeping in, a few shelves for clothing and other knickknacks, and a floor rug beneath the hammock. This room was not even half the size of her old room and it was crammed with a huge curtained bed, a clothespress, a huge desk, a bookcase, and a big squishy armchair. It was soft and fluffy and overcrowded.

"Oh my," she murmured into the silence. Pleased to note that her English was slowly clearing of accent, she sat down on the bed. It was too small for her—obviously, considering the size of the other occupants of this castle.

Biana bit her lip. What would happen to her?

~

James Potter smiled at Laura in a bemused sort of way. "Hullo, little girl—are you lost?"

"James?" she gasped. It was her brother, looking exactly the way she'd left him fifteen years ago. His polo shirt was slightly askew; his glasses smudged, and his black hair sticking up in the back. "Is it you?"

"I'll have to take you two home. Do you know where you live?" James continued as if he hadn't heard her. He kneeled and scooped one child up in each arm. ("This is degrading," Snape whispered to her). James sat down on the slide and placed one of them on each side. "Ready?" She nodded, and the three of them flew down the slide.

Laura landed with a thump on rough carpeting. The boy-Snape looked around, bemused. "Where are we now?"

"This is Godric's Hollow!" Laura whispered in shock. "This was our home!"

There was a thump on the door. James ran to answer it, his wand drawn. He bent to peek through the peephole, and then was thrown backward with a cry of pain as the door blew off its hinges and smashed James against the sofa. There was a woman's scream from upstairs, and a baby began to cry. The young man pushed the door off him and shot a bolt of light at the tall, hooded figure coming through the door. It bounced off and shattered a vase. 

Laura found that she wasn't breathing anymore.

James tried again, shrieking an incantation that Laura recognized. Once again the bolt was deflected with a wave of a white hand. There was a cruel laugh, and a soft whisper. James' glasses flew off his face to shatter on the wall, narrowly missing the boy-Snape's head. Laura wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't blink.

"James Potter," Voldemort said softly. "Where are your sons?" His voice was so soft and reasonable—and his red eyes were darkly mad.

James felt for his wand and pointed it at the air above Voldemort's head—he was practically blind without his glasses. "I'll never tell!" he shouted.

"Oh come now, my petty little Gryffindor," Voldemort replied. "Surely you'd want to tell, in exchange for your life—or maybe that of your darling sister?"

James smiled grimly. "She's not here, Voldemort, and she's gone somewhere where you'll never find her or my son." Seeing the rage building in the flat red eyes, James turned to the stairs. "Lily, take Harry and go!"

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Voldemort screamed in rage. James flew against the wall, his body almost instantly consumed in emerald-green flames. Laura screamed, but the figure in the room took no notice. Sometime during the short exchange between her brother and Voldemort, she'd been returned to her normal size.

Voldemort smiled softly and hissed something. The flames went out. With another whisper, the cracked and smashed glasses flew to his hands. He began to ascend the stairs, black robes trailing behind him. Laura was forced to follow—next to her she saw that Snape had been returned to his normal size too. 

He forced the door open and entered the room, where Lily sat complacent on the bed, her face very white amid the tousled red waves of her hair. The crib behind her was deceptively empty. Laura was puzzled until she remembered that Lily had had an Invisibility Cloak as well—it had been a wedding gift from her elderly father-in-law.

Laura, tears still running down her face, was forced to watch as Voldemort presented Lily with the cracked and smashed glasses. Lily accepted them in two fingers, and then just as calmly hurled them to one side. The glasses struck Laura in the face, and she quickly snatched them and put them in her pocket. Deep down she knew this was all one big Illusion, but some childish nuance kept her from leaving the glasses on the floor.

Snape grabbed onto her shoulders in a sort of nervous jump as Voldemort began to speak: "Where's Harry, Lily?"

"He's not here. Laura took him."

"I know he's here."

Lily glared at him with flat green eyes. "You don't know everything, then, do you?"

Voldemort grabbed her by the front of her blue sweater and lifted her to his eye level. "I tire of your games, stupid girl. WHERE'S HARRY?" His angry yell shook the walls. Laura covered her ears, but that didn't really help. "TELL ME NOW!" A baby began to cry, invisible but still audible. Voldemort dropped the woman and advanced on the crib, ripping out all the blankets until Harry became visible. The dark haired baby stopped crying for a moment—maybe in confusion? –but resumed when he saw Lily crumpled on the floor.

Lily dashed between Voldemort and her son. "No! No, not Harry!"

"Stand aside you stupid girl! Foolish girl! Stand aside!"

"No, no, I'll do anything!"

Laura couldn't hear the words, but she saw the green light and the noise like a speeding train as Lily crumpled slowly to the ground, unmarred and still beautiful. Tears ran down her face as the room slowly faded around them, turning into a soft gray haze like heavy smog.

"They were very brave," Snape said softly in her ear. "I'm sorry that they died."

"I would have been proud to die in their place, but thanks," Laura replied. "What's happening now?"

"No idea," he shrugged. "And being dead rarely helps anyone."

An icy wind swept by, bringing a piercing cold that penetrated skin and bone. Laura began to shiver, and was relieved when the cold stopped and the fog began to fade. "I—" she began, turning to Snape. Her sentence died in her throat.

Snape was dressed in a polo and jeans. His hair was short and messy, and he wore a pair of glasses on his nose. The dark eyes in the white face were the same, but the face was different. Younger. Laura looked down and found herself in jeans and a blue sweater. The fog was slowly fading to become the inside of Godric's Hollow house, undamaged and whole. A dreadful suspicion began to rise in the back of her mind and she grabbed at her hair, praying that she was wrong.

It was red.

The door of the house creaked, and Voldemort stepped in. "Hello James. Hello Lily. Shall we try this again?"


	20. Wolf, Monster and Dog

**Unplottable Island**

**Chapter 20: Wolf, Monster and Dog**

It was barely ten minutes after Harry took Biana to her room when she was summoned to the Headmaster's office. She made her way there guided by a skittish house-elf named Fanky, who watched Biana closely every time she moved, and nearly expired when Biana spoke to her in English.

By the time the Dreki reached the spiral staircase that led up to Dumbledore's study, she was more than happy to say goodbye to the nervous house-elf. Self-consciously she tried to neaten her appearance as the stairs carried her upwards. Her dress was at least clean, though it fit her ill, but her face was probably covered in grit. As the staircase rose, she spat in her hand and rubbed her face. Biana ran her hands over her hair hopelessly just as she reached the landing.

She knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Biana had to duck to get through the doorway. She felt very out of place in the room, where everything was perfectly tailored to a man that was six feet tall. The fireplace, which rose to shoulder height for Dumbledore, was closer to her waistline. All the chairs were shorter than what she was used to; tables were placed awkwardly at mid-thigh. Dumbledore was standing behind his desk. Across from him were two men, both whom were staring at Biana.

"Ah, Miss Razi. Please have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to one of the short chairs.

She sat resignedly, her knees rising at a slightly uncomfortable angle. The eyes of the two men followed her.

"Sirius, Remus, this is Biana Razi, a Dreki. Biana, these men are Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, former students of mine."

Biana nodded. So did one of the men. The other just shifted uncomfortably. From where she was seated, she could see a green-black bruise on the side of his neck beneath the ear, like someone had throttled him.

"Headmaster, I really don't see what you have in mind," said the first man. He had dark hair cut close to his head and pale gray eyes. His hand waved in a broad gesture. "Why are Remus and I here?"

"Sirius, that will be revealed in time," said Dumbledore gravely. "What thoughts from you, Remus?"

Remus shifted in his seat again. His sandy hair was long and streaked with gray, his relatively young face etched with fine lines. Bruise-colored crescents fanned from beneath his lower lashes, and his mouth was wide and thin. As he moved, his robes slipped and Biana saw the edge of another bruise at the base of his neck. "I know you'll tell us, though I really don't understand what _she_ has to do with it." His pale brown eyes glanced sideways at Biana.

"Does it even speak English?" Sirius demanded. "I thought that they could only speak Parseltounge."

"You were right until yezterday," Biana said quietly. Sirius jumped.

Remus only smiled. "Sirius Black, outsmarted again." But his smile vanished when his eyes fell on Biana.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As all of you know, two people most dear to us have vanished, apparently without a trace: Severus Snape and Laura Potter." A glance exchanged by the two younger men gave Biana the distinct impression that they would prefer to go without Severus Snape. "Until yesterday, we had no definite proof of their location or captor.

"Then Hagrid, while visiting a tribe of centaurs, found Biana Razi on a beach, half-drowned. Through an interpreter and her exceptional English, we've nearly pinpointed the location of our missing persons." With a smart flick of his wand, a large map materialized in midair and unrolled with a noise like a whip crack.

"You see here the North Sea. Here and here"—he marked points with his wand—"you see the Norwegian cities of Bergen and Florø. And about here"—he made another dot, about three-quarters of the way to Florø, and a little ways out from the continent—"There should be an island. It's Unplottable, of course, so I cannot give you three a good map of where to look."

Remus raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under his shaggy hair. Sirius slapped his hand on his armrest and swore loudly. Biana blinked twice.

"What I suggest is that the three of you travel to this Unplottable Island, and try and rescue Laura and Severus."

"Headmaster, with all due respect—this is crazy!" Sirius blustered, leaning forward in his chair. "Go somewhere we can't see, to face we don't know what by a time we cannot estimate!" He pounded on the armrest of his chair again. Remus said nothing.

"If I may recall correctly, Laura has done much the same thing, completely selflessly. Because of this, Timothy Potter is here with us today and you have your fiancée. The very least you can do for her is repay the favor." Dumbledore's blue eyes were icy.

"You—you are the betrothed of Laura?" Biana stuttered, trying to enunciate clearly. All three men stared at her.

"She's my fiancée." Sirius said quietly, his voice scalding. "I love her." Biana's face heated.

Dumbledore nodded, continuing: "I can provide broomsticks and invisibility cloaks, the best directions to the area. I regret that I am unable to join you. I'm not as young as I once was." He stared at each of them in turn, holding Biana's golden gaze the longest. "Biana, do you know how to fly on a broomstick?"

"A broomthick?" Biana repeated. "Izn't that dreadfully uncomfortable?"

"It is a standard method of travel to we mortals," Remus replied. "There are charms to prevent splinter-filled buttocks."

Biana tried and failed to picture the quiet brown man in the armchair flying through the air perched on a broomstick. She smiled behind her hand. "Iz there no more—more convenient way to get from point A to point B?"

"None that Minister Fudge hasn't outlawed," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "You'll get accustomed to it quickly, I think."

~*~

Biana clung to the broomstick for dear life as it shot uncontrollably towards the side of the 'Quidditch' field. Stupid word—nearly unpronounceable.

"Don't lean forward!" roared Sirius over the wind rushing through her ears. Biana leaned backwards and stopped shooting forwards, but went into a tailspin instead. She was nearly sick when Remus shot over and seized the tail of her broom, bringing her to a stop.

"People—they do thiz for _fun_?" Biana asked incredulously. "Az a _sport_?" Shakily she pointed the nose of the broom downwards, and fell off onto the ground in relief when she was close enough. "You mortalz—all mad. Crazy."

"I understand you flit about of fire-breathing dragons. I would say that you demi-mortals are the crazy ones." Remus descended and hovered three feet off the ground. 

_How on earth does he make it look so natural?_ Biana wondered, exasperated. "We're flying over water?" she asked despondently.

"Nice soft landing," Sirius quipped. "Get back on the broom, Lizzie." He had switched to this nickname at Biana's semi-violent request he stop referring to her as Lizard's Spawn. Remus chuckled and zoomed off again.

She groaned and re-mounted the broomstick, accelerating slower this time. Turning broadly and not going to fast, she only fell off twice. "No stuntz on these, right?" Feeling bolder, she accelerated to about 20 kph. She made a wide turn around the three goalposts, then slowed to look around, getting used to the height. (Author's Note: 20 kilometers per hour is roughly equal to10 mph)

"Not if you're honest," Lupin replied. He halted his broomstick and watched her with his steady gaze. "Why did you leave Voldemort?"

Biana gripped her broomstick tightly in agitation, but halted herself when she shot forward a few feet. "He waz a bad man—crazy, even." She pulled down the shoulder of her dress to expose the scars, still pink and red. "He did that to me. I waz his cell guard—I listened to all the people die!" Her voice broke and she stopped, looking away to the east where her home was. "He deserves to die the mozt painful death imaginable!" She broke into Parseltounge, not knowing the words to express herself in English. Dreki curses tend to be very violent, including much 'rending of flesh' and 'piercing of eyes with red-hot irons'.

Sirius winced. "Ouch. Whatever you just said, that sounded bad."

Biana looked over at Laura's fiancée, and to her own surprise, smiled. "It waz. Your stomach iz too weak to handle it, mortal!" She leaned forward and shot away as Sirius gave chase and Remus laughed.

~~

"Wake up!" Tim shook his brother roughly. 

Groaning, Harry sat up, the homework he'd fallen asleep on sticking to his face. Peeling it off, he glanced blearily at his twin. "What?"

"Sirius and that Dreki and somebody else are leaving! To find Laura!" Tim waited for this to sink in, searching his mind for the Dreki's name. Harry had told him everything about his encounter with the dragon-girl, but somehow the name had slipped his mind. "Oh, and Snape too," he added. "On broomsticks! Today!" He sat down and stared at Harry. "We can't just let them leave!"

Harry's eyes popped. "Serious?"

"And Biana and another man!" Tim replied, recalling the name. "Oh wait. Yes, of course I'm serious."

"We can't just let them go! They'll get massacred! Wait, hold on a tic…" Harry jumped up and ran upstairs. Tim thought briefly about following him, but decided to stay put. He really didn't want Sirius to leave without him—he was like the father Tim couldn't remember. Only once had Tim heard James' voice: he'd had a dream with green light and a screaming woman, and a man telling her to go. He knew now that that dream was one of Harry's, that some how Tim had too.

He shook his head and pulled a sheet of parchment towards him, jotting down what he knew. Tim was waving it in the air to dry when Harry galloped down the stairs, holding his broomstick and a long silvery cloak

"Harry," he protested. "I know what you're thinking, and I think that it will NOT work." Tim squinted, for a moment envisioning the two of them crashing into the raging oceans and eaten by sharks.

"It'll be fine! Besides, I haven't fallen off a broom in years. It's going to be an easy ride." Harry pointed at the shiny word _Firebolt_ engraved upon the surface, as if that word could take care of everything. "It's for Laura, anyhow."

"I lived by the sea for fifteen years!" Tim exploded. "It isn't like a Quidditch field, Harry—you've probably never even seen the ocean! You haven't, have you?" Harry shook his head. "Exactly! And I KNOW this is for Laura, and I'd do it except for the fact that we _don't have a chance_!"

Harry shrugged, his green eyes flat behind his round glasses. "There's always a chance. I mean, what chance does a baby have against Voldemort?"

Tim rested his head in his hands. "What chance do two boys have of making it across the ocean and killing the greatest wizard living without either getting killed in the process or getting the people they came to save killed?" He tapped the paper in front of him. "Not taking in the fact that Biana is the only good Dreki we know of, she's female, wounded, and probably has never seen a broomstick before in her life?"

Harry shrugged again, this time mostly with his eyebrows. "We still have a chance. I'm not sure about you, but I think that I'd rather die trying." He shrugged his cloak over his shoulders, disappearing from view. Tim heard the footsteps of his invisible brother retreat towards Sir Lot.

Tim rolled his eyes and tore up the paper, throwing it into the fireplace. "Harry, you're an ass." He'd barely started to heave himself to his feet when Harry's grinning head appeared, hovering in the sir five feet off the ground.

"I know, I know. I think you're an ass too. Let move, maybe there's another broom in the shed."


End file.
